


the myth of us never ends

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 87
Words: 79,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompts + ficlets</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the woman who married me

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of prompts/oneshots I've posted to tumblr and decided to move so they would all be in one place. May be updated occasionally. Story title from Joshua Radin's The Myth of Us

The bowtie, she realizes, her hearts dropping into her stomach. The bowtie is gone.

Obviously, this more mature regeneration doesn’t think bowties are cool but to River, it had never been just a sartorial choice. Every time she looked at it, every time she undressed him and wrapped it around her hand, she’d been reminded of the choice he’d made – to love and marry the woman who murdered him.

She knows better than anyone what regeneration does, knows that it changes looks and personality, tastes and perceptions. He may like apples now and loathe the very sight of fish custard. He may prefer wine rather than a fizzy drink; he may be more graceful and less apt to ramble. He may prefer straight hair instead of curls, or find the feel of curves under his hands all wrong. He may find that marriage doesn’t quite suit anymore. Her Doctor had had a baby face but he had loved her with the passion of an ancient god. What about this man? Will he still look at her like she’s his own personal savior? Right now he isn’t looking at her at all, studying his shoes as she scrutinizes him.

River bites her lip anxiously and musters up a brave smile. "Hello sweetie.”

He risks a glance at her now and the moment his eyes land on her face, he reaches for her. Despite the change in body, his embrace still makes her feel the same – warm and safe and loved. “My River,” he whispers, burying his face in her hair. He doesn’t say her name quite the same way anymore and she presses her face into his neck, blinking away tears. “Go on then.” He guides her hand to his jacket pocket. “Have a look.”

Composing herself quickly, she slips her hand into his pocket, her hearts pounding. The Doctor always delighted in bringing her some sort of trinket whenever he visited her, and River took great enjoyment out of frisking him to find it. This, at least, hasn’t changed. There’s only one thing in his pocket, something soft and thin, and she swallows hard at the familiar material around her fingers.

Pulling her hand from his pocket, she stares down at the bowtie clutched in her fist. It’s the same one from their wedding day. Glancing up at him uncomprehendingly, River finds him watching her with soft blue eyes and the tenderness she always found there before is still there now. A cool hand, still slender but not quite as large, cups her cheek and a thumb brushes over her skin with the same familiarity as ever.

“My wedding ring,” he explains softly, and she feels tears of relief sting her eyes. “Never leave home without it.”


	2. as we roll down this unfamiliar road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place some time after the 50th anniversary episode. Story title from Home by Philip Philips.

She wakes to the sound of the TARDIS brakes, unmistakable even over the cacophony of rain and thunder outside the prison walls. Opening her eyes to her dark ceiling, River sighs and scrubs a hand over her face, mentally preparing herself for another adventure. She only just returned from a particularly harrowing trip with her husband and while usually delighted to see him again so soon, her body just isn’t as strong as she pretends it is. Sleep, even if just a little, is required for her human plus body. 

Tugging her blanket up to her chin – not the scratchy prison issue kind but a soft, luxurious gift from the Doctor after her first night spent here – she settles in more comfortably and hopes she can convince him to climb in beside her instead of running off somewhere else. Perhaps, if she uses all of her wiles…

The thought makes her smile just as the TARDIS doors burst open and the Doctor leaps out, grinning so widely she wonders how his face doesn’t split in two. “River!” He shouts, voice adorably high-pitched in his excitement. “How can you sleep at a time like this?”

He sonics open her cell with a flourish and River silently waves a sad goodbye to her hope of a quiet night in – giggling beneath the sheets and making love to the sound of rain outside her window, hoping the guards won’t walk by… With a sigh, she throws her blanket aside and sits up, swinging her legs over the side of her small cot and attempting to look alert. “A time like what, my love?”

Instead of answering, he swoops in like a great gangly bird and grasps her hands in his, yanking her to her feet. She stumbles into him with a startled yelp, caught off guard by the unexpected move, but his hands release hers to settle on her hips, steadying her.

“Clumsy idiot,” she laughs softly and places her hands on his chest, glancing up at him, looking into his eyes for the first time since he arrived. What she sees there takes her breath away – happiness. Pure, unadulterated,  _unburdened_  happiness. The man is as innocently giddy as a child on Christmas morning. Just the sight makes her own hearts lighter.

“Sweetie?” She says it like a question rather than a greeting and he laughs, gathering her suddenly into his arms and twirling her around in the middle of her cell. River laughs along with him, clinging to his neck and breathing in his scent – the smell of tweed and custard and time that never really fades. As he sets her on her feet again, she reaches up to straighten his bowtie out of habit, a little breathless. “I’m not complaining, Doctor, but what in the universe has gotten into -”

He stops her mouth with his own, tender hands framing her face. He’s still smiling even as he kisses her with an eager abandonment that sets her hearts racing. Gods, he even  _tastes_  happy. River melts into him, fingers clutching his hair with a pleased moan. “Love you,” he breathes against her lips, and nips at her playfully. “My River.”

“And I you, sweetie but -”

“Come on, come on – time waits for no man.”

Stumbling to keep up as he drags her in the direction of the TARDIS, she argues, “You have a time machine -”

“Semantics, wife!”

He all but carries her over the threshold and snaps his fingers to shut the doors. Flushed and dazed, River watches him bound up to the controls. “Sweetie, did you find a hat sale or something?”

He snorts.

“An all-you-can-eat fish fingers buffet?”

He turns on her as she reaches him, hands on her hips and raised eyebrow demanding answers. The skin around his eyes crinkles, hazel eyes sparkling with light as he taps her on the nose fondly. “Better.”

“Really? Must be quite something – I don’t think you were so happy even on any of our wedding days.”

She’s blatantly fishing but he doesn’t bite. Instead, with a grin turned enigmatic, he begins to input coordinates with gusto, humming something in Gallifreyan under his breath.

River creeps closer. “Is it spoilers?”

“Might want to change, dear,” he says, ignoring her question and eyeing her prison uniform. “You’ll want to make an impression where we’re going – though you always do, my bad girl.”

Exasperated with his cryptic responses, River yanks his face to hers by his bowtie, amused despite herself when his expression of glee doesn’t change – like it’s now a permanent fixture of his face. “And where  _are_ we going?”

Stooped to meet her gaze, nose mashed against hers and his breath a warm tickle against her lips, the Doctor leans into her grip on him with ease, that smile as wide as the grand canyon and just as dazzling. “Home.”


	3. we're all stories in the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the 2013 Christmas special

“And then what did she do, Doctor?”

A gaggle of children have gathered together on his front porch, sitting cross-legged in front of him, elbows on their knees, leaning forward and hanging breathlessly on his every word. The Doctor eyes them with fondness. He isn’t quite sure how storytime has become a regular part of his afternoon routine in this little town but it keeps him occupied, wondering what story to tell and how to tell it. Sometimes, he likes to plan the next one before bed every night but other times, he likes to be spontaneous. All the best stories usually are. And today is the best story of all – the day Melody Pond became River Song.

“Then,” he says softly, meeting the spellbound eyes of each and every child before him. “She saved me. With a kiss.”

Every little girl in the group gives a collective dreamy sigh. “Just like Snow White,” one of them says, blushing. “Did you live happily ever after?”

The boy next to her – older and the skeptic of the group – snorts and says, “Obviously not, since he’s here with us. It’s just a story, numpty.”

“Ah,” the Doctor says, smiling patiently. “But we’re all stories in the end, aren’t we?”

Looking vindicated, the little girl sticks out her tongue. “See? River was real, wasn’t she, Doctor?”

Eyes twinkling with merriment, he leans forward, bones creaking with the onset of old age, and whispers conspiratorially, “Not only was she real, but I married her.”

The boy’s jaw drops, the girl grins, biting her lip, and all the other children gasp in wide-eyed excitement. “So she really did all that stuff? She really fought all those Silents on her own?”

“Was she really Cleopatra?”

“What about the Sontarans, Doctor?”

“Could she really hypnotize you with her eyes?”

The Doctor flushes. “Well, I might have been embellishing just a little about that bit. But yes.”

A whisper of excitement passes through the crowd of children, all of them suddenly staring up at him in amazement. A little girl in the front row raises a shy hand; smile dimpling when the Doctor nods at her. “Did she really have hair as big as space?”

He laughs, delighted as his mind, slower than it used to be but just as reliable, wanders back to the image of his wife he still holds dear to his hearts. “Oh, massive!” He makes a motion around his head, miming River’s full mane of space hair. “It was everywhere – like Medusa… except curls instead of snakes, of course. And blonde…” he trails off, eyes misting over. “Gorgeous.”

The children exchange glances, grinning.

Puzzled, the Doctor frowns and asks warily, “What?”

The boy next to the shy little girl nudges her and she bites her lip, pointing timidly over his shoulder and that’s when the Doctor realizes it hadn’t been him they’d been staring at in silent wonder, but something behind him instead. “Did she look like that, Doctor?”

His hearts skip a beat and he shuts his eyes for a moment, swallowing thickly. He hasn’t seen his wife in nearly a century, not since their goodbye on Trenzalore and he mentally prepares himself to be disappointed. She’s gone and no matter how much he wishes otherwise, she cannot be with him forever. Slowly, he turns his head to glance over his shoulder and his breath catches in his throat.

River stands just behind him, beaming widely, a gun at her hip and a box of jammie dodgers in hand – good thing too, his supplier won’t be in for weeks yet and the children had been hungry when they’d arrived. “Telling stories about me again, I see.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, too busy letting his old eyes drink in the sight of her – his memory of his wife is perfect and unfailing but even a Time Lord’s mind cannot wholly capture the way her eyes sparkle or the little dimple in the corner of her mouth when she smiles. “Yours is the best story there is,” he finally manages, and if his voice is thick with emotion, no one faults him for it.

“Ours,” she corrects softly, and he’d forgotten somehow, how utterly and without fail this woman loves him. He has missed it terribly – there is nothing in the universe like the unconditional love of River Song.

He nods, a lump in his throat, and agrees, “Our story.”

As River closes the distance between them, cupping his weathered face in her soft hands, all the children look away with embarrassed giggles. The Doctor’s mouth twitches in amusement but he does not shut his eyes as River leans in – he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of his wife kissing him hello.


	4. nude beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Doctor picks up a younger River and takes her to the beach for a picnic with her parents. Plot twist: it's a nude beach.

The Doctor’s cheeks are nearly as red as the tomatoes on Rory’s ham sandwich and she might have felt a little sorry for him if she didn’t so love the way he wriggles in embarrassment. He’s just so adorable when he’s trying to avoid looking at naked women.

 

“River,” he whinges, fidgeting with the hem of his ducky-printed swim trunks. “Can’t we just go back into the TARDIS -”

 

“You promised me and my parents a picnic on the beach, sweetie,” she reminds him lightly, glancing at Amy, who keeps looking around her with a smirk, and Rory, who pretends to be very interested in the crust on his bread.

 

“Yes, but we could find another beach – one where people aren’t walking around _naked_ ,” he hisses, glowering. Since he refuses to lift his eyes from his plate of Jammie Dodgers lest he see something he shouldn’t, the look doesn’t faze her.

 

River hums thoughtfully, thoroughly enjoying herself. “We could,” she reasons. “But with you driving, there’s no guarantee we’ll ever make it to a beach. We might end up in the middle of battleship about to attack Clom or -”

 

“I know how to drive my TARDIS, thank you very much, Song,” he snaps.

 

“Oh, so you meant to take us to a nude beach, did you?”

 

He sputters, redder than ever.

 

“Sweetie, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was say so.” She winks, enjoying the way he flails and darts fleeting glances to Amy and Rory. “And maybe leave my parents home next time.”

 

“Yes please,” Rory mumbles and squeezes his eyes shut like he might be getting a migraine.

 

The Doctor squeaks. “I did _not_ want to see you naked -”

 

“So you wanted to see other women naked?”

 

“What? No -”

 

She crosses over arms over her chest and jerks her chin to the left, where a group of women are playing volleyball. “What about that one then? Have a look. Her breasts are a little smaller than your usual type -”

 

“My usual type?!”

 

 “But she’s ginger so I suppose that makes up for it.”

 

“River!” He claps a hand over his eyes. “Stop it.”

 

“Or what about her? Blonde, petite, could probably bounce a pence off her arse -”

 

Rory makes a muffled nose of discomfort while Amy cranes her neck to have a look. “Ooh. Nice.”

 

The Doctor claps his other hand over his eyes and ducks his head between his knees in an effort to drown them out, his entire upper body flushed red.

 

“Oh, and that one.” River whistles lowly. “Look at the size of those nipples -”

 

“River Song,” the Doctor growls, finally lifting his head to look at her, cheeks flushed an angry red and eyes slightly wild. “Stop that right now.”

 

She raises a challenging eyebrow. “Why?”

 

He stammers. “Because.”

 

“Because why?”

 

“Because I said so! And I am your elder, so respect me!”

 

She snorts. “Not good enough. Now, what about -”

 

Making a strangled noise of misery, the Doctor blurts, “Dammit River, because you are the only one I want to think about or see naked – on a nude beach or otherwise!”

 

People around them turn to stare at his rather vocal declaration and the Doctor instantly blushes bright red. Amy slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggle, Rory looks like he might never eat again, but River grins triumphantly and coos, “Oh sweetie, you know just what to say to a girl.”

 

He huffs, eyeing her with equal parts contempt and adoration. “Can we _please_ find another beach now?”

 

“Only if you lose the ducky shorts.”

 

“Oi, duckies are cool.” He glances down at them with a frown. “Besides, I don’t have any other swim trunks.”

 

“I know.”

 

“River!”


	5. rolling stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River and the Doctor get high with The Rolling Stones in 1960's London.

He’s never taking River anywhere ever again. Show a woman all of time and space and she sniffs as though he’d taken her to a dive bar but introduce her to a rock star and she’s dazzled and giggling like a schoolgirl. Looking back on it later, the Doctor will protest that this had anything at all to do with his actions – a thousand year old Time Lords are _not_ susceptible to jealousy and peer pressure. Except when River Song is involved and suddenly he’s insecure and jealous and susceptible to every human failing under the sun.

 

“Go on then.” She smirks at him from under Mick’s arm, young and defiant, not nearly his wife yet as she watches him with a challenge in her gaze. “Have a hit, sweetie.”

 

“Fine,” he mutters petulantly. Humans do it all the time – surely it can’t be too unpleasant. He sticks the joint in his mouth and inhales, coughing almost instantly as his eyes water and smoke fills his lungs.

 

Everyone laughs but River, who watches him fondly. “Alright?”

 

“Course I am,” he says hoarsely, handing it back to her. “Superior Time Lord physiology. These things don’t affect me like they do humans.” He nods at her. “Or human plus, dear.”

 

“Superior, hm?” River slips from Mick’s grasp and to his side, pressing all her curves against him in a very distracting way and blinking up at him with eyes already unfocused as the drugs take hold. She pushes the joint back between his lips again with a devious grin. “Another hit won’t hurt then, will it?”

 

And that’s how he finds himself eating his own words, lying in the middle of Keith Richards’ dressing room floor and staring up at the ceiling, blinking at the odd shapes in the tile. Eating words? Such a colorful, human-y phrase. He loves humans. Except Mick Jagger. And whoever invented the little white stick currently making him want to consume large, unhealthy amounts of food.

 

“How do you feel, sweetie?”

 

He blinks slowly, River’s face slowly coming into focus. He feels her cool fingers against his forehead and purrs. “Rivah… did you know there are stars in your hair?”

 

He reaches up to touch a curl and ends up poking her in the eye. River yelps and takes his hand in hers, holding it firmly. “Are there?” She asks, and he’s relieved that she sounds amused instead of annoyed.

 

He nods solemnly and then stops, wide-eyed. “No, wait! The stars are in your eyes.”

 

River smiles.

 

“Your hair is a black hole.” He bursts into giggles and clutches his stomach.

 

“Hilarious, sweetie,” she says dryly.

 

He pouts. “Don’t be sad, River. I’m sad. We can’t _both_ be sad!”

 

“I’m not sad – I’m irritated.”

 

“With me?”

 

“No, with myself for letting you smoke.”

 

“Well you should be. You’re very irresponsible this young.” He frowns. “Hang on, _letting me_? I am a Time Lord, River Song. You didn’t _let_ me do anything. I do what I like _when_ I like.”

 

She snorts. “Of course, sweetie.”

 

After a pause, he pokes her. “Rivah?”

 

“What?”

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m sad?”

 

“I suppose there’s no way around it.” She sighs. “Why are you sad, Doctor?”

 

“Because you’re going to marry Mick Jagger and not me. And your name will be River Jagger, which is ridiculous. Really, River. I’m embarrassed for you.”

 

River’s fingers stop stroking his forehead and he feels them tremble against his fringe as she clears her throat. “And what makes you think I’d want your last name? It’s probably not even pronounceable.”

 

“Well you don’t take my last name, silly.” He scoffs up at her, twisting around until his head rests in her lap. “I take _yours_.”

 

“Spoilers, sweetie,” she says softly.

 

He pouts and reaches for her face again, satisfied when he grasps her chin. “Not anymore. You’re going to marry Mick Jagger because he’s cool and he sings and he likes to grab your bum.”

 

River gently takes his hand from her chin and snorts. “I am not marrying Mick Jagger, Doctor.”

 

“What? Why not?” He scowls. “Isn’t _anyone_ good enough for you, Song?”

 

“Not nearly.” She sighs patiently. “But for some reason, my type is more the idiot mad professor.”

 

“Oh.” He pauses sadly, then brightens. “That’s me, isn’t it?”

 

She laughs fondly and takes another hit from the joint in her hand. “Yes sweetie, that’s you.”

 

He fidgets, still uncertain. “But you let him grab your bum.”

 

“Well you certainly weren’t grabbing it,” she reasons defensively.

 

“I could do.” He lets his eyes drift down her frame and attempts to look seductive.

 

River giggles. “No you couldn’t.”

 

“Could too.” He pouts. “It’s my bum.”

 

“Actually, it’s mine.”

 

“It’s partly mine. Or it will be.”

 

River raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean your bum is partly mine too?” She grins slyly. “Oh, how exciting.”

 

“Wait, what?” He blinks, suddenly frightened by the gleam in her eyes. “No. That’s not how it works.”

 

“I think it is.”

 

Feeling more sober by the minute, the Doctor attempts to sit up but River holds him firmly in place, raking her fingers through his hair. “River, this does not mean you get to – to do – “ He waves a hand. “Whatever it is you’re thinking about, so stop it right now.”

 

She smiles.

 

“Alright,” he says hastily. “Your bum belongs to you, okay? Now stop _plotting_.”

 

“Sorry, sweetie,” she says, sticking her joint in his gaping mouth and raking her eyes along his frame with enough interest to make him shudder. “But you can’t always get what you want.”

 

Reclining next to them, Mick sits up with a start, a half-smoked joint tucked behind his ear and a manic grin on his face. “Fucking hell. I’ve got it.”


	6. taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/Twelve - he hates the taste of everything his former self loved, except for her

Everything changes with regeneration.

 

Hair – woefully gray, though Clara, trying to make him feel better, insisted it made him look distinguished. Chin – wonderfully normal and scratchy with stubble. Clothing choices – he keeps the bowtie in his pocket, slipping his newly weathered fingers inside to stroke the fabric and remember. Outlook on life – he feels older than ever, but somehow, just a little bit rebellious.

 

He manages to adjust to it all with relative ease, barely blinking an eye or shrugging his (thinner, wearier) shoulders, a muttered curse falling off his tongue with new familiarity. The only thing he can’t manage to get used to is his taste buds.

 

Fish fingers are detestable, custard makes him wrinkle his nose, chips are too greasy and even his beloved tea with far too much sugar causes stomach convulsions the moment the damnable liquid passes between his lips. Nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – tastes right anymore. He barely eats for days, trying apples and pears and toast, beans and fried chicken and pasta, spitting it all out with contempt while Clara looks on, increasingly exasperated as his growling stomach grows louder.

 

And then, like an oasis in the desert, River appears just when he needs her. Her smirk is all-knowing as she leads him out of the kitchen without a word. With only a mischievous wave to Clara, she tugs him through winding corridors to their bedroom, her hand warm and sure in his. As soon as the door shuts behind them and she releases him, he begins, “Not that I’m not ecstatic to see you -” River slips the bowtie from his pocket as if she’d known it was there all along, wrapping it around her hand. “But I don’t think I have the energy, honey.”

 

“You?” River raises an eyebrow, fiddling with the zip on her dress. “This body not resilient enough to handle me, my love?”

 

He frowns. “I’m hungry.”

 

“Then eat.”

 

He opens his mouth to tell her he’s tried but nothing tastes the same anymore when her dress pools at her ankles and suddenly, tangible food is not what he hungers for. River smiles like she knows, drawing him to bed like Edesia presiding over a feast.

 

And feast the Doctor does. Her skin is cool water to his parched tongue, the pads of her fingertips spicy with ancient dust and her nipples like the tang of watermelon seeds, making him shudder at the soft _snick_ of the hardened buds beneath the scrape of his questing teeth. The sweet wetness between her legs quenches his thirst like nothing else.

 

He licks and sucks and drinks until the ache of hunger is soothed by her and her alone, until he feels full to bursting with the flavor and texture of River’s body. The Doctor lifts his head from the rich banquet spread out before him, feeling satisfied for the first time since he regenerated.

 

“Ah, my dear.” He sighs happily, pressing a slick kiss to her inner thigh as River gasps for breath beneath him, fingers still curled in the sheets. “You taste just as I remember.”


	7. gender swap

“You want to bang him, don’t you?”

 

River sighs through her nose and silently regrets for the nth time taking on an American male companion. “No, Jonathan, I do not want to _bang_ him.”

 

“Oh come on, he’s totally bangable. I’d do him if I were into dudes.”

 

She grimaces. “I did not need to know that about you, but thanks. Now can we please get back to focusing on the whole Weeping Angel problem rather than talking about my sex life?”

 

“Well, someone’s Miss Grumpypants today.” Jonathan pouts. “And you know, I think the reason for that might be that you’re not getting any -”

 

“Jonathan -”

 

“Come on, you can tell me.” He waggles his eyebrows and probably thinks he looks charming. “He’s Mr. Song from the future, isn’t he?”

 

“You know, Jonathan, I think you’re right.”

 

He blinks at her. “I am?”

 

“I am definitely not getting any.”

 

He huffs.

 

“River, dear?” They both lift their heads at the sound of the Doctor’s voice, turning to stare. He smirks at her, waggling his fingers. “I need you for a moment, honey.”

 

“Right now, you might not be getting any but....” Jonathan tilts his head, grinning. “Future you is so getting nailed.”

 

River levels him with a glare and shoulders past him, stalking toward the tent where the Doctor stands, bouncing on his heels and smiling at her, a gun strapped to his hip and looking ridiculously delicious for someone wearing army fatigues. She manages a tight smile and tells herself that no matter the circumstances and no matter the appeal of the man who looks at her like he knows everything about her and loves her anyway – this man is _not_ dragging her into anything, holy matrimony or otherwise.


	8. kissing to save the day

Clinging to Rory’s arm, Amy stares across the console room with tears in her eyes, watching her daughter level a gun in the Doctor’s face, her expression blank and utterly lifeless, like some sort of automaton killing machine. There is nothing in her eyes that makes her River – that naughty, mischievous sparkle, the wise and ancient gaze, the complete and utter devotion to her idiot space husband. All of it is gone, and in its place is Kovarian’s creation. Amy feels white-hot rage burn through her veins like acid and if that bitch were in front of her now, she would happily kill her again.

 

What did they do to her baby? One moment, they’d all been gathered around the console after their latest adventure – Venice again, except this time with space werewolves – and laughing about the Doctor’s attempts to rescue his bowtie from the mouth of one of the beasts with a banana and a toothpick, and the next River had pulled out her blaster and leveled it at her husband.

 

Hands in the air and eyes full of forgiveness, the Doctor tries a tentative, “River – Melody – put down the gun.”

 

“Doctor, what’s happening?”

 

He doesn’t even glance at Amy as he replies slowly, as if trying not to startle River into pulling the trigger. “She’s reverting to her training.”

 

Rory frowns, tightening his hold on Amy’s waist. “But I thought she beat it. You said she was fine -”

 

“She is more than fine, Ponds.” The Doctor’s mouth twitches fondly. “River is amazing. But years of brainwashing don’t just go away – can’t erase all that nonsense they filled her head with. She’ll fight it every day of her life and usually, she’ll win.” He lets his gaze drop to River’s hand and the white bandage wrapped tightly around her palm. She’d been bitten by one of the space werewolves and the Doctor had given her the antidote but they could all see how it weakened her, despite how she tried to hide it from them. “It was just too strong this time. But she’s still fighting – hasn’t killed me yet, has she?”

 

Amy steps away from Rory but keeps a tight hold on his hand, mouth set in determination. “What do we do?”

 

“Stay where you are,” the Doctor orders, attention already focused on River once more. “River, I need you to put down the gun. It’s all right, I promise. You’re safe – no one on this ship is going to hurt you.”

 

River’s hand trembles just a bit.

 

The Doctor inches forward. “Just give me your hand, honey.” She blinks at the pet name, something in her expression shifting, like she might be feeling something other than careful blankness. The Doctor beams encouragingly, stretching out his arm. “That’s it, dear. Just take my hand.”

 

River doesn’t move but the Doctor steps even closer and she doesn’t try to shoot him. Slowly, he reaches out and pries the gun from her loose grip, never once taking his eyes from River as he places it on the floor and kicks it away.

 

“There we are,” he says brightly. “All better.”

 

River still watches him without feeling, head tilted, and Amy can barely stand to look at her daughter’s face so void of life. The Doctor reaches out cautiously, as if to make sure she isn’t about to strangle him with her bare hands. She doesn’t move and he finally cups her face in his gentle palms, his smile soft and a little sad. “Where are you, my River? Still in there somewhere, I know. Wake up, dear.” He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose.

 

Before he can even pull back, River blinks again and Amy only has time to see the horrified expression dawning on her face before she quickly turns her head and tries to wrench away from the Doctor’s grip. He only wraps his arms around her tightly, hauling her into his chest as River struggles. He buries his face in her curls and murmurs something in a language Amy doesn’t understand and the TARDIS refuses to translate. At his words, River sags against him, hands fisting his jacket and her nose pressed into his crumpled bowtie.

 

“See?” The Doctor looks over her shoulder and smiles reassuringly at the Ponds before turning his head to press a kiss to his wife’s temple. “Amazing.”


	9. celebratory kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> River/Ten

He doesn’t know why he does it. One moment they’re about to die and the next they’re – well, they’re not. And it’s usually just a normal day in the life of the Doctor but this time, he’d been yanked back from the brink of death not one his own or with a companion but with River Song. He doesn’t know who or what she is but he does know that she likes to hold his hand when they run and fire shots from her blaster over her shoulder just to show off her aiming skills and smirk at him like she knows what he looks like under his pin-striped suit. And maybe she does.

 

But for whatever reason, the not dying seems more exhilarating than usual and he lets out a whoop of delight before turning to take her face in his hands and crash his lips against hers. It’s meant to be a brief _, yay we’re alive_ sort of kiss but River lets out a noise of surprise so unlike what he would expect from his mysterious, time traveling archaeologist that the Doctor can’t help but grin against her mouth and the kiss suddenly takes a very passionate turn.

 

River stops being surprised and starts kissing him back, hands fisted in the lapels of his coat and bare feet – she’d long ago ditched her high heels to run – perched on top of the toes of his Chuck Taylors to press herself up and against him. She nips at his bottom lip, tongue snaking past his lips and sweeping through his mouth with abandon. The Doctor groans and curls his fingers around her small ears, hanging on for dear life. River Song tastes like intrigue and kisses like a hurricane – brash, destructive, and careless of the damage she leaves in her wake.

 

When they finally part, chests heaving and eyes glittering, the Doctor can only stare as River steps from the toes of his shoes and wipes at the corners of her mouth delicately. “Well,” he manages, hearts thudding in his chest, and cannot think of anything else to say except, “Yowzah.” He wrinkles his nose. “Oh, terrible word. Never saying that again.”

 

A knowing smirk twisting her red, lipstick smudged mouth, River winks at him. “We’ll see, sweetie.”


	10. next-door neighbors

After four weeks spent digging in the sand in the middle of Israel under the hot sun with no bed, little food, and nowhere to bathe but the river, she wants nothing more than to go into her home, shower and collapse into bed to sleep for eighteen hours straight. But the moment the cab drops her off at her front lawn with her heavy duffel bag at her feet and drives off, River hears the sound of a small explosion, quickly followed by a yelp and sparks flying from her next-door neighbor’s garage.

 

Gasping, she leaves her bag in the middle of her driveway and rushes next door, calling out, “Mrs. Angelo? Are you alright?”

 

The garage door is open so she peers inside anxiously, wondering what she’ll find in her elderly neighbor’s garage. She expects a bomb, poor Mrs. Angelo in a faint on the floor, anything but what she actually finds – a gangly young man holding a fire extinguisher and pointing it at the flames erupting from a vintage blue police box. Waving a hand at the smoke as he finishes putting out the fire, River steps into the garage, coughing.

 

“Oh, hello,” the young man says, offering her a friendly grin. “Sorry about the noise – bit of a mixup with the wires. But I think I’ve got it figured out now!”

 

River stares at him. “Who are you? And where is Mrs. Angelo?”

 

“Moved to Florida to be with her kids,” the young man says, lifting his goggles from his eyes and dropping them on the workbench next to him. “And I’m your new neighbor – John Smith.”

 

River stares at his outstretched hand for a moment before finally slipping her hand into his and shaking, lifting her eyes to study his strange, angular face. His fringe flopping into his eyes and his boyish grin makes him look even younger than he already does. “River Song,” she manages, feeling a little breathless as his long fingers wrap around her own. “Archaeologist.”

 

He snorts, dropping her hand. “Should have known.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You smell like the desert,” he says, picking up a screwdriver and turning back to the worn-looking police box.

 

She flushes, indignant. “Well there weren’t a lot of places to wash in the middle of nowhere in Israel, _sweetie_.”

 

John glances up from inspecting the burnt wires in the telephone box, grinning wryly. “I never said I didn’t like it, River Song. Lovely name by the way.”

 

She flushes for an altogether different reason and hates herself and him for it. Young men hit on her on a fairly regular basis – especially on digs when there are graduate students always about – but never before has one affected her like this. “What are you doing, anyway? Trying to set your new house on fire?

 

“Not yet.” He pats the faded blue police box with a proud grin. “Bought this baby at a market today and thought I might refurbish it, get it working again. Isn’t it sexy?”

 

She blinks at the word choice and decides she’d rather not ask. “Seems a bit pointless,” she says instead. “What are you going to do with it?”

 

He shrugs. “Use it as a conversation piece? Turn it into a time machine? Whatever I do with it, it’ll have more of a point than digging about in a massive sandbox for pieces of pottery.”

 

River gasps, outraged, and he grins brazenly at her. “How dare you -”

 

He presses two long fingers to her lips, still watching her with amusement. “Why don’t you go wash the sand from your – frankly, brilliant – hair and take a nap. By the time you wake up, my box will be working. We can have tea and compare hobbies!”

 

“It isn’t a hobby,” she snaps. “It’s my bloody career.”

 

“Oh. Sorry.” He eyes her with sympathy and pats her arm. “I’m sure you’ll find something respectable eventually.”

 

Her fingers itch to slap that smug look from his face but she curls her hands into fists and turns on her heel to march off with a huff, deciding she definitely hates her new neighbor.

 

As she stalks from his garage and back to her own home, she hears him call after her with laughter in his voice. “No you don’t!”


	11. better than diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor proposes with a Jammie Dodger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this drawing: http://m-v-b.tumblr.com/post/79837326254/i-spent-such-a-crazy-long-time-working-on-this

“River, don’t you think the Jammie Dodger is the most romantic of all biscuits?”

 

With a sigh, River lifts her eyes from her glass of wine and watches her husband ignore her in favor of studying his biscuit, twisting it this way and that, squinting at it as if it holds some ingredient that contains all the secrets of the universe. Brown hair flopping into his face, tweed long since discarded and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looks deliciously disheveled. She wants to crawl across the distance separating them and sprawl that long, lanky body across the picnic blanket until the last thing on his mind is his bloody _biscuits_. But all she says is, “Sure, sweetie.”

 

He glances up at her bored tone and frowns. “What?”

 

“Nothing, my love. Would you like me to leave you and your Jammie Dodgers alone for a while? Perhaps you’d like some privacy?”

 

He huffs his fringe out of his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just – River, there’s a _heart_ in the middle! You can’t tell me that isn’t romantic.”

 

“Oh, immensely.” She drains the last of her wine and reaches for the bottle. It’s been three months since she was sentenced to ten thousand consecutive life sentences for murdering the man across from her and usually, their date nights consist of breathless adventures, gunfire, war negotiations, and copious amounts of shagging. River prefers it that way. Today, he’d insisted on a picnic and sitting still was so unlike him she couldn’t say no. She’s starting to regret it. 

 

“A heart,” he says, glancing up at her with bright eyes, like the things humans come up with sometimes enthralls even him. “It’s like a _love_ biscuit, River.”

 

“If you say so, sweetie,” she says absently, pouring herself another glass.

 

The Doctor sets the biscuit on the picnic blanket, puts his chin in his hands and stares at it, as if contemplating an abstract painting. “It’s the most underrated of biscuits too,” he says, and River wonders if she could reach her gun back in the TARDIS and shoot herself in the head before he could stop her. “People always prefer chocolate chip or macaroons or _peanut butter_.”

 

His wrinkled nose is adorable and she glances away quickly before her annoyance vanishes at the sight of it. “Hmm,” she answers, determined to stick to her guns. The man cannot bring her on a picnic, ignore her in favor of composing an ode to a biscuit, and expect her to encourage him in this madness.

 

“Lovely to look at on the outside – all those curvy edges,” he says, glancing up at her through his lashes. “Really lovely. Yowzah, in fact.”

 

She stares at him, suddenly concerned for his sanity. Calling the TARDIS sexy is one thing, but if he develops a fetish for a biscuit –

 

The Doctor drops his eyes, blushing. “But that isn’t all there is to these biscuits, of course. Once you get to know – I mean, once you _taste_ it, you realize there’s so much more underneath. It’s not just a gorgeous, brazen, know-it-all biscuit. There’s a tartness underneath, a darkness, but if she – the biscuit, of course – trusts you, you get the very special privilege of tasting the sweetness too.”

 

He peeks at her through his fringe again and River blinks at him, comprehension slowly dawning.

 

The Doctor clears his throat, cheeks reddening once more, and finishes softly, “It’s a very complex biscuit. But I rather love that about it.”

 

River swallows. “Doctor -”

 

He smiles suddenly, brows raised smugly as he slides the biscuit across the picnic blanket toward her. “Be my love biscuit, River Song?”

 

She fights back the urge to laugh, biting her lip, and manages, “Did you just propose with a Jammie Dodger?”

 

“What if I did?”

 

She eyes the biscuit skeptically. “Most girls get diamonds.”

 

He scoffs. “You steal diamonds all the time.”

 

“And Jammie Dodgers are so hard to come by,” she counters dryly.

 

“Are you turning me down, Song?”

 

She almost rolls her eyes – as if she would ever say no to her idiot husband – and then hesitates. “You really want to marry me again?”

 

He shrugs. “The first one didn’t stick. Thought we might give it another go.” He glances away and sniffs, as if he doesn’t care one way or the other, but River sees the tightness around his eyes and the tense line of his shoulders, sees the way his fingers shake just a little as he fiddles anxiously with the frayed edge of the picnic blanket. “If you want.”

 

Snatching the biscuit from the blanket without a word, River bites all around the edges, nibbling diligently under the Doctor’s watchful gaze until there is nothing left but the jam heart in the middle. Satisfied, she silently hands it back to him, depositing it onto his waiting palm.

 

The Doctor grins widely at the little heart, like a schoolboy with a love note, and pops it into his mouth, chewing happily. He looks up at her like he must have looked at the stars the first time he saw them beyond the TARDIS doors – like he’s never seen anything so beautiful, so wondrous, so _meant to be_.

 

Before he can ruin it by speaking, River yanks him up to her by his bowtie for a kiss. He threads his fingers through her curls and moans, letting her lick the crumbs from his lips. She’ll forever equate the taste of Jammie Dodgers with her marriage – a little tart, a little sweet, and better than diamonds.


	12. the Doctor's Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River, Amy, and Queen Nefertiti being badass. Takes place during Dinosaurs on a Spaceship.

“And the Doctor – does he have a queen?”

 

Amy smirks at the question, glancing away from the space ship controls and over her shoulder at Queen Nefertiti and oh my god, when did this become her life? “Oh yeah.”

 

Nefertiti frowns, clearly displeased. “He never mentioned her.”

 

Turning incredulous eyes on her and already mentally making a note to hand Rory his sword the next time she sees him, Amy says, “Seriously? He never mentioned River?”

 

“Oh.” Nefertiti blinks. “He did mention a river killing him but I assumed he was frightened of drowning.”

 

Pursing her lips against a bout of laughter, Amy shakes her head once and turns back to the controls. “Little word of advice – find someone else. He’s very, very taken.”

 

“And just what is she queen of?” Nefertiti lifts her chin, eyes narrowed. 

 

“Time.” Amy mutters, staring distractedly at the screen. “Space. Prison.”

 

“You know her personally then?” Nefertiti takes a step forward, intrigued. “What is she like?”

 

“Oh you know, gorgeous, gun-slinging archaeologist with a possessive streak.” Amy shrugs. “Just his type. And the type to shoot first and ask questions later – just for future reference.”

 

“Well.” Nefertiti sighs, disappointed. “That certainly explains why he kept trying to get away – trying to escape her wrath. Her punishments must be quite severe.”

 

Amy snorts and covers it with a cough, mind suddenly filled with all sorts of unwanted images. Her nose wrinkles in distaste but part of her can’t help feeling a little proud – like mother, like daughter. 

 

“I suppose I shall have to find another.” Nefertiti shrugs elegantly. “I could never knowingly defame another queen’s property.”

 

“And he is.” Amy nods, satisfied that she has staked claim on the Doctor on her daughter’s behalf. _Someone_ has to make sure he doesn’t accidentally marry an Egyptian queen when his wife isn’t around to babysit. “Just… don’t tell him I said that.”

 

“Isn’t it true?”

 

“More than he’ll ever admit out loud.”

 

Nefertiti sidles up to her with twinkling brown eyes, red lips curled into a thoughtful smile. She glances over her shoulder, as if to make sure they’re alone. “What do you think of the game hunter?”

 

Amy tilts her head and squints. “Sexy – in a chauvinist pig sort of way. But a step up from a married man with a wife who could kill you with your own headdress in 87 different ways.”

 

“89, actually. She’s very creative.”

 

She and Nefertiti both jump at the sound of the Doctor’s proud voice and Amy glances around wildly for him, a hand over her pounding heart. Spying nothing, she looks down and realizes she’d left her mobile on. She glares at the screen and says, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to eavesdrop, Raggedy Man?”

 

“And didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to declare another man as property without his permission, Pond?”

 

She picks up her phone and holds it to her ear, snorting. “I wasn’t declaring – you’re a kept man and you know it. I was just making it a bit clearer, since you did a rubbish job of it yourself.”

 

“Oi! Nothing happened, Pond!”

 

“And it better not ever, Raggedy Man,” she warns. 

 

He sighs and Amy can almost picture his fond smile. “Never ever, Amelia. On my honor as property of my queen.”

 

Amy laughs, mentally filing away this conversation to repeat word for word to River the next time she stops by for dinner. “As it should be.”

 


	13. River in shorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River in jean shorts.

She’s doing it on purpose. She has to be – there is no other explanation.

 

He flushes and shifts uncomfortably as she bends over again, mumbling to herself as she digs through boxes in the middle of her dorm room. Bent at the waist and showing off far, _far_ too much skin in those tiny denim cutoffs, River remains oblivious to his discomfort. He should really look away before she turns around and catches him gaping but those shorts are just so… _short_. He can see the very tops of her thighs and the beginning of the pert, round swell of her –

 

“Making any progress, sweetie?”

 

He jumps, quickly glancing up as she turns around to look at him. He knows for a fact that she hadn’t caught him staring but her lips curl into a smirk like she knows anyway. He swallows guiltily and manages a faint, “What?”

 

Her smirk shifts into a wide smile and oh yes, she definitely knows he’s been staring and she is definitely taunting him on purpose, the minx. “With my bookshelves. You insisted you could put them up yourself, remember?”

 

“Oh. Right.” He clears his throat, tugs at his collar, and pointedly refuses to let his gaze wander anywhere below her waist. She’s much too young yet and he feels like a dirty old man, but then, River has always had that effect on him. “Bookshelves. Love a good bookshelf. Very…” He pats the dissembled boards at his side awkwardly. “Sturdy.”

 

River frowns, hands on her hips. The movement draws his eyes back down to that damnable, forbidden, below the waist area and he finds himself staring at the delectable, golden skin of her legs and the frayed edges of her cutoff denims tickling her inner thighs. “You haven’t even put them up yet.”

 

The sound of her voice startles into glancing up at her face again and he deflates a little at her adorably furrowed brow. Too young. Way too bloody young. “Erm, yes. So I haven’t.”

 

“Isn’t your screwdriver working?” Suddenly, she drops her gaze to his lap and a wicked smirk spread across her face. “Well, no. I’d say your screwdriver is in perfect working order.”

 

Gasping, the Doctor drops his hands over his lap protectively and flushes beat red. “River!”

 

“Why Doctor, you dirty old man. What would my parents say?” The reminder of the Ponds – oh god he really is a dirty old man, lusting after his best friend’s little girl and damn River and her bloody shorts – makes the Doctor flail in alarm but River is merciless. “They trusted you to help me move in and here you are, wanting to move _yourself_ into my -”

 

“River Song!”

 

Her returning laughter is unrepentant. “Are my clothes distracting you, Doctor?”

 

Still blushing brightly and feeling like a pervert, he glares at her. “If I say yes, will you change into some trousers?”

 

She shakes her head, looking entirely pleased with herself, youthful light dancing in her eyes. _Too bloody young_ , he laments again mournfully. “Not a chance.”

 

“Alright, we’ve got food!” Amy barges into the room empty-handed with Rory stumbling behind her, laden down with takeout boxes. She glances around the haphazard dorm room and then looks accusingly at the Doctor. “Oi, Raggedy Man. Quit lazing about and put up those shelves! What have you been doing this whole time anyway?”

 

He scratches his cheek and glances anxiously at River. “I, erm, that is -”

 

“Sorry Mother,” River interrupts with a carefully blank face. “I distracted him.”

 

Amy snorts and starts helping Rory settle all the food onto the little table River had set in the corner of the room. “Not hard to do. What did you do, wave something shiny in his face?”

 

Pursing her lips secretively, River murmurs, “Something like that.”

 

The Doctor glowers, wretched with guilt and uncomfortably tight trousers. River turns her back on him and bends to pick up her carton of Chinese takeout with deliberate slowness, her arse in the air. Groaning to himself, the Doctor wrenches his gaze away with a quiet whimper. River turns and blinks at him, all faux innocence. “Feeling alright, sweetie?” She blinks, the picture of concern. “Is all that sitting in the floor making you _stiff_?”

 

“I’m fine,” he bites out like a cornered animal. Feeling the curious eyes of the Ponds’ on him, he amends, “Dear.”

 

River smirks. Jaw set in determination, he turns back to the manual for the bloody bookshelves. The sooner he gets these up, the sooner he can find a River who isn’t too bloody young. 

 

Maybe he can even get her to wear the shorts.

 


	14. caribbean cruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Caribbean cruise vacation

She doesn’t know why she thought this would be a good idea. It had certainly seemed like one at the time. After their latest adventure of dinosaurs on a spaceship – the Doctor still won’t shut up about it – the idea of a nice, normal family vacation was too tempting to resist. No time travel, no blue box, no aliens except for the ones related by blood or marriage, and definitely no dinosaurs or Egyptian queens.

 

Lounging on the deck of the massive cruise ship bound for the Caribbean, Amy eyes her son in law over the top of her sunglasses and wonders why she ever thought she could have _normal_. It’s been three days and nothing has gone as she planned. Somehow, she and Rory had ended up with the room right next to River and the Doctor. After that first night, they’d bought a supply of earplugs but nothing on earth or elsewhere will ever be able to erase those sounds from Amy’s mind. Thanks to River and her bloody spoilers, she’d already known her daughter was a screamer. She did _not_ need to know the Doctor was too.

 

Even the buffet – a source of great enjoyment for normal people on a cruise – has been a cause of great contention. Despite hating roughly ninety percent of earth’s food, the Doctor insists on trying absolutely everything at least once. He piles his plate with an ungodly amount of food and shovels it into his mouth with the oblivious, childish glee that comes so bizarrely natural to a man well into his ninth century. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner consist of listening to the Doctor gag, spit out food, gulp his water, and complain about his taste buds this go round.

 

Last night, at least, she and Rory didn’t have to listen to muffled sounds of shagging in the room next door. River and the Doctor were too busy arguing about River cheating at the card tables in the casino. In fact, they’re still arguing about it now.

 

Mentally damning Rory for leaving her to go snorkeling, Amy squints beneath the brim of her wide sunhat and watches the Doctor stand over River’s lounge chair and gesticulate widely, his cheeks red from the heat or his annoyance or perhaps both. “Humans operate at a lower level of intelligence than we do, dear-”

 

“Oi!” Amy glares.

 

He sputters. “Not you, Pond! I meant, erm, other humans.”

 

She nods. All right then.

 

The Doctor turns back to River, who refuses to deign him with even a glance. “River, you know it isn’t fair to use your telepathy to win their money.”

 

“So they’re allowed to use all of their faculties but I have to dumb myself down and operate at their level to make them feel smart? Is that it?”

 

“Oi!”

 

River sighs. “Not you, Mum.”

 

All right then.

 

The Doctor glares, trying and failing to look formidable in arm floaties and swim trunks printed with little hearts he claims River bought him as an anniversary gift. “I never said you had to act like an idiot. But you have an unfair advantage -”

 

“Oh, and your psychic paper isn’t an unfair advantage you use to fool humans so you can get what you want?” River lifts an eyebrow, crossing her tanned legs at the ankles and looking smug.

 

The Doctor flushes up to his ears and crosses his arms stubbornly over his chest. “That’s different.”

 

“How?”

 

“It – it just is, Song,” he sputters and then points a triumphant finger at her as an answer dawns on him. “I use my psychic paper for the good of others. You use your telepathy for your own selfish reasons.”

 

“Selfish?” River huffs, her eyes narrowing. “I was _trying_ to win money to buy you a present, idiot. Because you hate it when I steal your gifts!”

 

It’s a bit worrying, Amy thinks, how quickly the Doctor softens from a red-faced, holier than thou tirade into useless, gooey-eyed jam. “A present? Really?”

 

Still glaring, River nods. “You keep complaining you forgot your rubber ducky in the TARDIS so I bought you something from the little gift shop, not that you deserve it.”

 

The Doctor bounces on his toes, eyes lit up. “No, wait! I’m sorry. Let me have my gift, please, River? What is it? _Please_?”

 

“You really want to know?”

 

He nods eagerly, his smile wide and anticipatory.

 

Faster than Amy can blink, River reaches beneath her lounge chair and pulls out a huge, colorful gun, aiming it at the Doctor and firing. He yelps as a blast of cold water hits him square in the face and Amy claps a hand over her mouth to contain a shriek as he stumbles backward, gangly arms windmilling. The splash as he hits the pool behind him is spectacular and garners plenty of curious glances.

 

Amy sinks into her chair and hides her face beneath the brim of her hat.

 

Unperturbed, River blows imaginary smoke from her water gun and tucks it back under her chair. “Alright, sweetie?” She calls out.

 

He swims to the side of the pool and coughs out a mouthful of water onto the deck. “Fine,” he rasps. “Sorry, dear.”

 

“Forgiven, honey.” River leans back in her lounge chair with a satisfied little sigh, offering her mother a conspiratory wink.

 

Amy sighs. Normal is overrated anyway.


	15. we're having a boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: We're having a boy

“Don’t you think you’re taking babyproofing the TARDIS a bit far?” River leans against the console, arms folded over her rounded belly, and watches her husband tinker with the ship’s system, locking every single door with a bizarre pass code he’ll never be able to remember.

 

“Of course not,” he says, frowning. “We can never be too careful.”

 

“The armory and your hat collection, I understand. But why on earth do you need to seal off the martial arts room? There isn’t anything in there. Afraid the baby might learn unsupervised self-defense?” She lifts an eyebrow, smirking at him.

 

The Doctor glances over his shoulder at her, scowling. “Oi, don’t joke. It could happen!”

 

River sighs, smoothing a hand over her belly as she feels the baby kick. “Sweetie, we’re having a boy, not a tiny assassin.”

 

Scratching his cheek distractedly, the Doctor mutters, “Yes well, he’ll be partly your son so it’s a bit like the same thing.”

 

“Ah, so since he’s half your son, I should worry about him inheriting your particular brand of foot in mouth, hmm?”

 

The Doctor pauses, clearly going over what he just said, and flushes, squeaking out, “Sorry, dear.”

 

Pushing away from her side of the console, River trails a hand over the controls as she walks to his side – it may be more of a waddle but so far, no has mentioned it and lived to tell the tale. “Are you sure you’re alright with this, my love?”

 

“Alright?” He tugs at his bowtie, avoiding her gaze. “Whyever not? My wife shows up on my TARDIS eight months pregnant with no warning whatsoever and I am literally the least prepared father in the universe but it’s fine. I’m fine. In fact, I am more than fine. I am _peachy_.”

 

River nods slowly, eyeing him with caution. “Alright then. Just checking.” She sidles a little closer, latching onto his tweed, and he freezes, hand over the controls as he sneaks a peek at her out of the corner of his eye. “I was worried for a minute that you might be nervous about this, which would be silly.”

 

“Of course it would.” He quickly drops his eyes back to the controls. “…Why would it be silly?”

 

She hums. “Because you’ve done this before.”

 

“Yes, well, that was a long time ago.” He rubs at his chin, eyes far away. “And I wasn’t particularly good at it then either.”

 

“Ah, but now you know better.” She smiles serenely up at him. “You’re older and wiser.” The last one is debatable but she’s trying to make him feel better. “You’ve got years of looking after companions under your belt. A baby can’t possibly be more trouble than Amy Pond.”

 

He smiles, eyes misting over. “No, I suppose not.”

 

She curls an arm around his, resting her chin on his shoulder. “And you’ve got me. You won’t be alone.” She smiles, kissing his neck. “Not ever again.”

 

The Doctor sags against her, turning in her arms to stare in quiet wonder at the huge bump nestled between them. Slowly, he reaches out a hand and places it on the curve of her stomach, right where the baby likes to kick. He feels it against his palm and his eyes widen, lifting to her face. “We’re having a boy,” he breathes.

 

River laughs softly, sliding her hand down to join his, their fingers tangling together over their son. “Yes, sweetie. We are.”


	16. breaking into the Black Archive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Eleven and River breaking in to the Black Archive to get her red Louboutin's back.

“I can’t believe you let them take my shoes!” River hisses, elbowing him when he flashes his torch curiously around the room.

 

He pouts, turning it back to the glass case she’s currently trying to break into. “I didn’t let them do anything!”

 

“Then how did it happen?” River curses like a sailor at the uncooperative lock and the Doctor peers over her shoulder. “How did _my_ personal effects make it into the hands of UNIT?”

 

“They searched your house after you…” He trails off, reluctant to speak of it even now, with her safe and whole and incredibly furious right in front of him. “They took what they wanted.”

 

“Yes, I noticed,” she snaps. “And where when you when this was happening? Swanning about the universe and pretending you had no responsibilities to your dead wife and her estate?”

 

The Doctor flinches, glancing away guiltily.

 

Pausing, River steals a glimpse over her shoulder at him. “Sweetie?”

 

He concentrates very hard on staring at the floor, fidgeting a bit. “Your house was empty,” he attempts quietly. “You weren’t there.”

 

“Of course not.” River touches his arm gently. “I was -”

 

He flinches again. “Dead, yes. And I couldn’t bear it.”

 

River stares at him in stunned silence for a moment and he studies his shoes, wondering why it’s so terribly shocking to her that her loss would affect him so. She slides her hand down his arm and curls her fingers around his wrist, smiling softly. “Well, buck up, Time Lord. I’m here now.”

 

He beams suddenly, bouncing a little. “Yes, you are.”

 

She grins, eyes twinkling. “And I would love my shoes back.”

 

“Then your shoes you shall have.” He taps her on the nose and delights in the way she wrinkles it before whirling back to the lock and setting to work. He manages not to fidget now, holding the torch steady so she can see what she’s doing.

 

Finally, the glass case slides open and River takes a moment to stare inside at her glittering red heels, sighing. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

 

He rests his chin on her shoulder and whispers, “Me too.”

 

River actually properly giggles. “You bad, bad boy.”

 

He kisses the side of her neck playfully but River stiffens in his embrace. He frowns, peering over her shoulder. “What is it?”

 

“My diary.” She points to the ancient, crumbling blue pedestal holding up her beloved shoes. “They took my diary.”

 

He winces. “River -”

 

She whirls on him, eyes furious. “They must have retrieved it from the Library! You didn’t even keep my diary?”

 

“Shhh.” He hisses, glancing around furtively. “Someone will hear -”

 

“Oh, I think you have a lot more be worried about than UNIT hearing us have a row, honey.”

 

“Oi, I was grieving!”

 

“Yes, I know all about your mourning period – sulking on a cloud and snogging Victorian barmaids!”

 

“Aha!” He points a triumphant finger. “I knew you were jealous.” He rocks on his heels, chuffed. “I knew it.”

 

River’s hand twitches at her side, like she’s contemplating a spectacularly ringing slap.

 

The Doctor gulps.

 

And then, like a switch has been flipped – a beautiful, miraculous, useful switch that he should really learn how to find because it could be very handy in future – River starts to laugh. It’s a full-bellied chuckle, head thrown back and mouth open wide, her curls shaking around her head. She looks rather magnificent.

 

Still, the Doctor twitches nervously. “Erm, River? Why are you laughing? We were having a row. Not, you know, that I’d rather argue but I’m a little…scared.”

 

River wipes at her eyes, still giggling. “It’s nothing, I’ve just remembered all the things I’ve written about in there.” She claps a hand over her mouth, releasing another hearty chuckle. “UNIT probably has an entire file about the way your face looks when you’re about to come.”

 

The Doctor squawks, blushing all the way down to his toes. “ _What_?”

 

Instantly, an alarm begins to sound and red lights start flashing above their heads. In the distance, he can hear shouting and the slap of booted feet against the floor.

 

River rolls her eyes, turning to snatch her shoes and her diary, stuffing them into her bag. “That’s our cue, sweetie,” she says, grabbing his hand.

 

The Doctor dashes mindlessly after her, still sputtering. “Wait, what else did you say about me?” He gasps, eyeing her mistrustfully. “Did you mention the dimple in my special place?”

 

She says nothing, pursing her lips.

 

He squeaks. “RIVAH. That is _private_!”


	17. alone in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Alone in the dark

There is a verse in the Christian Holy Scriptures that says there will be no night in the afterlife, for the light of God will be as the sun for all eternity. So far, in River’s experience, the afterlife is darker than she’d imagined.

 

After he said goodbye and laid her to rest, like a well-worn memory he wanted to keep tucked away and not think about anymore, she drifted. She didn’t want to disappear into books with the others and create whole other lives and friends and relationships. It would be easy enough to do, but River has never been one to take the easy way out. And she’s just so tired. Tired of living, tired of being dead but still having to go on and on and on. So she sleeps.

 

It’s a strange sort of rest in the data core. Everywhere around her is darkness, so thick she can feel it, hear it, see it, and breathe it in. The darkness consumes her, becomes a part of her until she feels like merely an extension of it. Conscious for centuries but floating in the dark, she forgets what is was like to be alive. To feel. To laugh. To love passionately. To be flawed and human. She forgets her family. She even forgets _him_.

 

“River.”

 

The sudden sound of anything but the ringing silence is so startling she flinches away from it.

 

She feels a cool palm against her cheek but it takes her a while to identify it for what it is – it’s been so long since she has felt the touch of anything but the dark. Still blind and weightless, she turns her face into the phantom touch and instantly craves just one more caress. This is what it felt like, she remembers, to be loved.

 

Breathing hasn’t been a concern for such a long time but River remembers it too and she inhales greedily, seeking something other than the inky blackness and finding it. She smells time, golden and humming energy, like the TARDIS. She remembers the TARDIS. Mother, friend, creator, ship but so much more than a ship. The scent of time mingles with the distinct, musty smell of old tweed and the sweet aroma of biscuit crumbs. River breathes it in again and remembers the word _home_.

 

“Open your eyes, my River.”

 

She feels pressure against her forehead – she has a forehead, has she always had a forehead? – and distantly recalls the soft, gentle press of his mouth there. The proud smile. The affection in his gaze. Home. Doctor.

 

“It’s time to wake up.”

 

Her eyes fly open and the sudden onslaught of bright, brash colors overwhelms her. She shuts them again, brow furrowed. Soft laughter fills her ears and the hand on her cheek slides into her hair. “You’ll get used to it,” a familiar voice promises. “Honestly, River, when I said there was a time to sleep I didn’t mean literally!”

 

She squints open her eyes again, quite sure her ears must be deceiving her. He can’t be here. He’s out there – stumbling around the universe with the TARDIS and a spunky human girl, the one constant time has ever known. But no, he’s hovering over her, smiling with exasperated affection, that ridiculous fringe slipping into his young, old eyes. Her voice is raspy and weak from disuse but she tries anyway. “You.”

 

He waggles his fingers. “Me.”

 

“But I’m dead.”

 

His face lights up. “Funny, that. Me too.”

 


	18. young river and young doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Young!River and Young!Doctor

He only meant to skip ahead a little. After the disaster that was their intergalactic cruise ship honeymoon, the Ponds had insisted on a normal, earth-based getaway without him. He’d felt a bit slighted, honestly – nearly kill the newlyweds once and suddenly they want a bit of alone time.

 

So he’d decided to just pop ahead a bit and pick them up. Except he’d stumbled out of the TARDIS and onto the pavement outside of a charming little house with a door painted a familiar blue. And on the steps, bare foot and wearing denim cutoffs and a tank top, is River Song.

 

She lounges insolently and actually has the nerve to look annoyed. “ _Finally_. I was this close to grand theft auto just for something to do. Again.”

 

He blinks at her. “Erm, sorry?”

 

“Amy barred me from the house. Apparently using her old stuffed Raggedy Doctor for target practice was in bad form.” She huffs a curl away from her eyes and looks petulant. It’s a rather adorable look for a woman he’s used to seeing flying into his TARDIS wearing stilettos and ordering him about like she owns him. “It _was_ a decent likeness, I suppose. Not generous enough with the chin, though.”

 

Insulted, the Doctor clutches at his chin. “Hang on, Amy?” He glances around. “Amy’s here?”

 

“Of course she is.” River eyes him like one might a particularly slow, drooling specimen. “It’s her _home_.”

 

Right. Okay. Jumped a bit further than he intended. Not a problem. It’s just…

 

“But River, if Amy lives here, what are you doing here?” He glances around wildly, peering down the quiet street. “What did you do this time? Do you need a lift somewhere or something? A party? Ooh, can it be a party? Love a good party.”

 

River stares at him. “What are you going on about?”

 

“You only show up when you need something or there’s trouble,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Is it trouble then? Just point me in the right direction and I’ll -”

 

River says nothing, staring at him in utter confusion, but it’s her eyes make him stop midsentence. She looks the same, perhaps a bit less lines on her face. But her eyes… oh her eyes are so very young. Much younger than the last time he’d seen her, just outside of Amy and Rory’s wedding reception, fur coat wrapped around her and blonde ringlets tumbling across her lovely face in the cool night air…

 

He drops his hands, studying her with renewed interest. “River… why are you here?”

 

She sighs. “I’ve been waiting for you. You promised me a trip over my summer hols, remember?”

 

“Summer hols?” He repeats the words like an unknown language, brow furrowed.

 

“Yes, that time between semesters when students go to the beach and get very, very drunk.” She explains patiently, glowering. “Unless you’re me, in which case you sit and die a slow death waiting for an idiot Time Lord to pick you up.”

 

“Oi, I didn’t know I was supposed to pick you up!” He scowls at her, feeling rather defensive as she heaps abuse on him. He’s only met River a handful of times but she’s never spoken to him with such venom or looked at him quite like _that_. “And so what if you’re on holiday? Can’t you go wherever you like? You usually do. Hang on, summer hols? You’re a _student_?”

 

River gapes at him. “Oh my god.”

 

He eyes her suspiciously. “What?”

 

“How old are you?”

 

He sniffs. “Rude.”

 

“ _Doctor_.”

 

“I don’t know – 908?”

 

She claps a hand over her mouth. “You’re young.”

 

“ _I’m_ young?” He sputters, waving a hand at her, all denim-clad and fresh-faced. “ _You’re_ young!”

 

“Have you done Berlin?”

 

“Berlin?” He grins. “Oh, that would be lovely. Should take the Ponds there. After Hitler, of course.”

 

River looks crushed. “You’re not him.”

 

“Him?”

 

“My Doctor.”

 

He frowns, a bit miffed. “Well, you’re not my River.” He flushes. “I mean, River. Not my. Just River.”

 

“You don’t know me yet.” She rises slowly from her spot on the steps, approaching him with caution, her young eyes glued to his face. “How _exciting_.”

 

He stands completely still, barely breathing as she comes face to face with him, so close he can feel the heat of her body against him. “Of course I know you. You’re River – lots of hair, gun, spoilers -”

 

“Spoilers?” She laughs. “But that’s your word.”

 

“What? Is not!” He scowls. “It’s yours! Drives me bloody mad.”

 

“Oh good.” River positively beams. “Sorry sweetie, payback will be a bitch.”

 

It’s difficult to think of a reply with River smiling at him like that and looking so strangely young and smelling like flowers and plasma blasts and time – hang on, _time_? He doesn’t get the chance to think on it further. Around them, the noise of a materializing TARDIS fills the air.

 

River’s eyes widen and she gives him an almighty shove toward his ship. “You have to go.”

 

“What? Why?” Young River is possibly more fascinating than older River and he isn’t quite ready to leave yet.

 

“Because that’s you – _future_ you.” She pushes him again, right into the doors of his ship, which, most irritatingly, swing open for her. “Go!”

 

“Fine!” He tugs at his lapels, scowling. “I’m going. But because I want to. Not because -”

 

She shuts the doors in his face.

 

He huffs, whirling away and stalking to the console, grumbling all the while. “Bloody maddening woman. Why does everyone have to be such hard work young? And her shorts are _silly_.” He pilots the ship away and rematerializes just around the corner, ignoring the Old Girl’s low hum of disapproval. “Spoilers smoilers,” he mutters, and leaps to the doors, peeking out with interest just in time to see himself bound out of the other TARDIS outside of the Pond residence.

 

The Doctor squints into the distance, frowning as he watches himself gather that terribly young River into his arms before she can even attempt to scold him. He’s definitely much older, wearing a purple coat and a heavier weight on his shoulders. Even so, a bit of that weariness melts away as he twirls the woman in his arms around in a circle. River laughs, clinging to him and somehow looking even younger than before.

 

Older him sets her on her feet again and kisses her soundly. The Doctor blushes, glances away, and then looks again with renewed interest. Kissing. He kisses River Song. He’d known, of course. Has known since he met her. River always has that look – that sort of _I’ve seen you without your clothes on_ look. Still, quite a different thing to know for sure.

 

She shoves at his chest, still grinning, and he sees her mouth forming the word _idiot_.

 

Older him bops her on the nose and River gazes up at him with eyes that shine with devotion. Even from a distance, the Doctor spies just enough adoration on his own face to scare the hell out of him. Promptly slamming the TARDIS door shut on the scene, he leans his back against it and closes his eyes, his hearts racing. Around him, the Old Girl hums again. This time, it sounds a lot like _I told you so_.


	19. picnic surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River tries to surprise 11 with a picnic but finds 10 instead

He’s too early. Far, _far_ too early.

 

River watches with trepidation as his younger regeneration – all spiky hair and big brown eyes, that devilish grin he thinks makes him so bloody irresistible – unpacks her picnic hamper with gusto. “Ooh, baby carrots! And tiny sausages!” He smiles winningly at her. “This is fun!”

 

She smiles weakly, watching him chomp down on a little sausage. “I wanted to surprise you.”

 

“Love a good picnic,” he says around a mouthful. “Except that once with Liz I. Well, she wasn’t really Liz I but that didn’t stop her from -” He pauses, eyeing her in silent consideration. “Actually, never mind. Boring story.”

 

River rolls her eyes, smiling fondly. “Sweetie, you don’t have to hide your conquests from me. I know all about them.”

 

“All of them?” He lifts a brow, intrigued. “I don’t… tell you about them, do I?”

 

Her Doctor would gladly throw himself from a cliff and into his next regeneration before he uttered a word about any previous romances. He’s constantly under the illusion that River is as jealous as she used to be when she was young, but she has her own ways of finding out what her sweetie got up to in the days before he knew her. River shrugs, hiding a smile. “Spoilers.”

 

The Doctor harrumphs and goes back to rummaging in the basket. “Did you make all this?”

 

River nods, feeling that familiar panic welling in her chest again as he focuses on the foods. “Thought I might fatten you up a bit,” she covers. “You’re so skinny this go round.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Do I get really fat in the future? Please tell me I don’t get fat – Donna will never let me hear the end of it.”

 

She smiles, shaking her head. “I can’t tell you.”

 

He pouts, turning his attention back to the picnic hamper. “Roast lamb, baby artichokes, shrimp, awww and mini quiches!” He glances up, grinning. “It’s like a theme! Baby -” He chokes, eyes widening and face turning the most remarkable shade of white. “Baby?”

 

Hearts leaping into her throat, River presses a hand over her chest and manages a weak chuckle. “What are you on about? Don’t you like it? Future you loves all your food miniaturized. I suppose that isn’t the case yet? Pity.”

 

He shakes his head slowly, turning back to the basket and pulling out the mashed peas, applesauce, and tiny bottles of sparkling water. “It is a theme,” he says quietly, voice shaking. “A baby theme. River, are you -”

 

“No, of course not,” she says, but her voice trembles and gives her away. She deflates, dropping her gaze. “It wasn’t supposed to be you. Not _this_ you.” She swallows. “I’m sorry.”

 

She keeps her eyes fastened on her lap as he stumbles to his feet. “No,” he says, sounding distant and a bit lost. “I’m sorry. I – I have to go.”

 

Nodding, she sits in silence and listens to the sound of his TARDIS fading away. When he’s gone, she sighs and reaches for a baby carrot, waiting. It doesn’t take long. About thirty seconds after he left, he comes back, the TARDIS older and a bit more worn, and the Doctor who steps out much the same.

 

River stands to meet him, smiling thinly. “Hello again.”

 

From the TARDIS doors, he all but runs to her and she’s in his arms before she can even worry about what he might be thinking. He wraps his lanky frame all around her, swallowing her up in tweed and the scent of Jammie Dodgers, squeezing so tightly she can scarcely breathe. “Are you really -?”

 

She nods, tilting her head back to look up at him anxiously. “Are you happy, my love?”

 

“Happy? River I’m -” He laughs suddenly, taking her face in his hands and covering her mouth with his own, kissing her with such sloppy, dedicated enthusiasm that River can’t help but giggle, breaking the kiss. He kisses her nose, grinning. “So, so happy, dear. And he was too, you know, once he stopped panicking. Took a few hundred years, mind.”

 

River smirks. “Poor thing. I’m just glad he figured it out before he found the sonogram folded into his napkin.”

 

The Doctor throws back his head and laughs.


	20. sweeney todd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Doctor/River + Sweeney Todd

The body on the floor of the TARDIS control room lies in a crumpled heap, still and lifeless. The scent of regeneration energy still lingers in the air, and so does the smell of the plasma burst that had stopped the change in its tracks. The Doctor and River stand over the body, staring at it in stunned silence.

 

Finally, the Doctor draws in a gasping, panicked gulp of air and turns to his wife. “River, what did you do?”

 

“What I did was save your remarkably pretty arse!” She gestures angrily with her gun to the body crumpled on the floor. “He was about to send you into your next regeneration – which would be well enough if you _had_ any more!”

 

The Doctor makes a small wailing noise, whirling away from her and collapsing against the console. “River, you killed _Rassilon_!”

 

She tosses her hair. “He was asking for it.”

 

He begins pacing, hands fisted in his hair and hearts fluttering a frantic rhythm lodged in his throat. “Okay, think. What do we do? We have to – I don’t know, hide him or something. The council can’t know you killed him.”

 

“Why? What will they do? Put me in prison?” River rolls her eyes, a hand on her hip. “Sweetie, it was self-defense. He was going to hurt you and I don’t think a simple ‘please back away from my husband’ was going to suffice!”

 

“It doesn’t matter, River!” He growls, whirling on her. “The Time Lords aren’t going to care what you say and they certainly won’t allow me to back you up as a witness – they hate me! I’m far too humany for their taste.”

 

River’s gaze turns sharp, brows rising into her hairline. “Taste,” she murmurs thoughtfully.

 

The Doctor snaps his fingers at her, stepping over the body lying between them. “River, this is serious. They will hunt you down and destroy you, do you understand me? We have to get rid of him.”

 

“My thoughts exactly, sweetie.” She hums, tilting her head. “Tell me, how do you feel about pie?”

 

He blinks at her. “Pie?”

 

She nods, threading a hand through his mussed hair. “You studied with Julia Child, yes? She must have taught you how to make a lovely pie.”

 

Brow furrowed in confusion, the Doctor says, “Yes, I suppose. Depends on the type of pie. I was always rubbish with rhubarb.” He shakes his head, scowling. “River, how can you be hungry at a time like this?!”

 

“Oh, I’m not.” Her lips curl into a slow, calculating smile. “But the council might be.”


	21. camp counselors AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Doctor/River Camp Counselors AU

**Day 1**

 

He shows up on the first day of summer camp wearing a bowtie and River almost feels a bit sorry for him – kids are vicious, and they can always spot the weakest link, even among adults. That bowtie screams _I am your new camp counselor please feel free to make my life a living hell this summer_. River cannot, in good conscience, let the man wander into the lion’s den without at least warning him.

 

She sidles up to him, clipboard in hand and one eye on her group of kids as they stand around getting to know each other. He’s too busy watching his own kids and rocking back and forth excitedly on his toes to notice her at first so River clears her throat and he jumps. “You’re the new guy, right?”

 

He nods, grinning as he holds out a hand. “John Smith.”

 

She shakes his hand firmly. “River Song.”

 

“Oh, how lovely.” His smile grows and she feels a little flushed as his eyes meet hers. “Much better than John Smith.”

 

“Well, thank you, sweetie.” She winks, watching his cheeks redden and his hands fidget. “Listen, I just wanted to warn you. The bowtie -”

 

“What’s wrong with bowties?” He holds a hand almost protectively over it. “Bowties are cool.”

 

“For an old man, maybe.” She lifts a brow. “Certainly not camp attire and definitely won’t earn you any respect from your kids. They prey on the weak.”

 

He sniffs, straightening his bowtie. “Says the woman with the name River Song. Were you raised by a Native American tribe?”

 

River narrows her eyes at him, settling a hand on her hip. “No need to be hostile. I’m just passing on some friendly advice.”

 

He nods, eyes wide. “Oh yes, I completely understand. Very kind of you.” He hums thoughtfully. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll do something about my bowtie when your hair doesn’t need its own zipcode.”

 

She laughs brightly, glaring. “They are going to eat you alive. And I will enjoy watching, sweetie.”

 

His eyes are filled with mirth as he watches her, smiling smugly. “Well, _dear_ , we’ve got all summer for me to prove you wrong, eh?”

 

As she stalks away, fuming, River glances down at her clipboard and scans for his name. _There_. Camp counselor for…Oh no. Finn Cabin. The very same cabin that hers has been in a rivalry with for the past five years. She groans, glancing over her shoulder to see him high-fiving one of his campers, grinning.

 

All summer, indeed.

 

**Day 5**

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“What are _you_ doing here?”

 

River glares, her entire cabin standing behind her as she and John face off in front of the pool. “We reserved the pool for this afternoon. It’s on the schedule.”

 

“Sorry, but that’s completely impossible because _we_ reserved the pool for this afternoon.” John glares right back but he doesn’t quite manage to look formidable in ducky print swim trunks.

 

“We’ll see about that.” River sweeps past him to the chart hanging by the lifeguard tower, yanking it up to eye level. “See, right there -” She stops, frowning. The name of her cabin had been there last night. She’d signed it herself, right at the top of the list. She whirls, gaze fastening on John Smith and his stupid, ridiculous swim trunks. “You.”

 

He raises a thin, wispy brow at her. “Me?”

 

“You erased my name, didn’t you?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He walks slowly in her direction, somehow managing to swagger in those hideous shorts. He stops when they’re standing toe to toe, making a show of raking his gaze slowly over her frame, sliding his eyes along her legs, the black halter swimsuit, lingering on her chest. He smirks, meeting her eyes. “Some advice though.” He leans in close, smelling of chlorine and contraband oreos. “Might want to use a pen next time. Pencil is so easy to…smudge.”

 

Chest heaving angrily, River reaches out and gives an almighty shove. His arms flail, his gangly feet trip over themselves, and both rival cabins begin to clap in earnest as he splashes into the pool behind him. River dusts off her hands and marches off, not even waiting for him to surface. Oh, she _hates_ him.

 

**Day 10**

 

She wakes to the sound of screaming. Sitting bolt upright in bed, River threads a hand through her curls and stares as her campers run around the room, jump onto their beds, and generally just panic, shrieking and crying.

 

“Girls!” She shouts, tired and confused. “What on earth has gotten into -”

 

And that’s when the raccoon jumps onto her bed.

 

She leaps out from under her blanket and scurries across the room for a net, cursing all the while. As she turns back to the raccoon on her bed, watching her with something resembling a challenge in its eyes, she shouts aloud, “I hate you!”

 

From outside the cabin, she hears a cheerful, “No, you don’t!”

 

**Day 12**

 

She waits until three in the morning.

 

On her signal, one of her campers begins to play the bugle horn right outside Finn cabin, the very same tune that’s supposed to wake everyone up and summon them for breakfast at eight. She listens closely, ear pressed to one wall outside the cabin, and from inside, she can hear panicked voices and the scurry of feet running about to get ready on time. “I can’t believe we overslept,” she hears one of the campers grouse. “You were supposed to set your alarm, John!”

 

“Oi, I must have forgotten, all right? It’s not my fault you all kept me up until one playing rummy!”

 

River leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, and waits as they all come stumbling out of their cabin, dressed and ready for the day at three am. John is at the head of the group and the first one out the door, so he’s the one who gets doused by the bucket of water positioned over their heads. He yelps in shock, absolutely soaked and thoroughly wide-awake.

 

River laughs, high-fiving her campers. “Good morning, sweetie,” she calls. “Sleep well?”

 

He lifts his head and looks at her in stunned silence.

 

She smirks back, waggling her fingers in greeting, but in the back of her mind, she can’t help thinking he looks rather lovely all wet like that.

 

**Day 15**

 

The pranks and the bickering have escalated to epic proportions. Apparently, River and John’s cabins have had enough. Using all of their wiles, they’d forced River and John into a canoe on the lake – and then promptly handcuffed them together before pushing them away from shore without a paddle.

 

Arm in arm, the campers had waved to them from the shore. “Come back when you can get along!”

 

Still furious and grumbling to herself an hour later, River refuses to make eye contact but she can feel John watching her with interest. “My own sodding campers. Oh, just wait until I get back. They’ll be washing dishes in the canteen for the next _month_.”

 

John shrugs. “I thought it was rather clever.”

 

She huffs. “Of course it was. But that is not the point.”

 

“And what is the point, River Song?” He sounds calm as anything, lounging against the side of the canoe, as if his hand isn’t currently handcuffed to hers and resting between them.

 

“The point is that we are going to be out here for hours before we finally drift to the shore and our campers are currently unsupervised and doing god knows what while I’m out here with _you_!”

 

“They’ll be fine. Probably just raiding my stash of Jammie Dodgers and using the pool without a lifeguard present. The other counselors will notice eventually.” John glances out over the lake, breathing in the cool air. “They’ve actually given us a day off. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, if you ask me.”

 

She finally looks at him to find him watching her with soft hazel eyes. “How can you say that? We’ve been at each other’s throats since the first day of camp.”

 

“You started it.”

 

“Did not! I was just trying to help!”

 

“Well you were rude.”

 

River purses her lips and admits quickly, “Sorry.”

 

He grins. “Bowties are cool?”

 

She hesitates, frowning. “They don’t look… completely horrible on you.”

 

He places his free hand over his heart. “Stop it, I’m going to blush.”

 

**Day 15 ½**

 

The bottom of the canoe is actually quite comfy, even all squished together and half dressed, their handcuffed hands entangled. Head thrown back, River releases a quiet little whinge as John Smith nips and kisses his way down her throat, his free hand stroking softly over her abdomen. “ _Sweetie_ ,” she manages.

 

He slides his hand just a little further up, fingers flirting with the edge of her bra. “I lied before,” he confesses softly, kissing her collarbone.

 

“About what?”

 

“Your hair.” He raises himself up just enough to nuzzle into her curls and make her laugh. “I love that it needs its own zip code.”

 

River turns her head, her lips finding his again. Her mouth is already red and swollen from those soft, inviting lips of his brushing over hers with the most delicious urgency. He moans, settling between her legs and rocking the canoe. She grips him a little tighter, stomach fluttering. It’s amazing what a delight he is when he isn’t speaking.

 

Taking his hand in hers, she moves it deliberately to cup her breast and he giggles against her mouth. “Why camp counselor Song,” he says breathily. “What would the children think?”

 

She laughs, arching beneath him and making water slosh into the canoe. “Shut up and touch me.”

 

“Oh, I will.” He nuzzles her curls again, fingers wriggling into the cup of her bra and touching bare flesh with just the right combination of hunger and reverence to make her gasp. “We have all summer.”


	22. wild west

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wild West, River undercover as a Madame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from the 7x03 episode A Town Called Mercy.

“Anachronistic electricity, keep out signs, aggressive stares.” He rubs his hands together gleefully, a slow grin taking over his face as the Ponds trot along behind him. “Has someone been peeking at my Christmas list?”

 

Amy reaches for his arm as they stroll by a noisy brothel. “Doctor -”

 

Before she can utter another word, two prostitutes – blimey, what a dirty word, ladies of the night, perhaps? – latch onto one of his arms and begin tugging him toward the house of ill repute. Surprised, the Doctor doesn’t start to struggle until they’re halfway to the door, squirming in their grip as they lead him quite competently away from the Ponds. “Oh no, wait. No!”

 

They giggle, smelling of some godawful perfume and whiskey.

 

“Doctor?” Amy calls after him, and he glances over his shoulder to see her watching closely, Rory at her side. Both of them look ready to rescue him if need be, which is a bit comforting.

 

“There’s been some mistake,” he babbles, dragging his feet. “I’m not a customer. I have a wife for this sort of thing!” They don’t seem to be listening so he finally calls for backup. “Ponds!”

 

The blonde one giggles again, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, _sweetie_. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

 

The pet name freezes him in his tracks and he glances between them as they push him into the house. “Hang on, is that _sweetie_ as in just a name like _pumpkin_ or _honeybuns_ or _sweetie_ as in code for ‘my wife is up to something’?”

 

They refuse to make eye contact, painted lips pursed secretively. The Doctor sighs and lets them guide him where they will, feeling a little more cooperative now as the possibility of seeing River emerges. They don’t linger downstairs, where the other, erm, ladies of the night are in various forms of repose and debauchery – the Doctor averts his eyes and blushes – but instead push him toward the stairs.

 

The brunette toys with his bowtie as they climb, her smile lop-sided. “You are a pretty one, aren’t you?”

 

He flinches from her, gulping. “Well, that’s what her indoors always says.”

 

She pouts at him. “Married men are usually much more fun.”

 

“Oi, I’m loads of fun,” he protests, insulted. “River loves spending time with me.”

 

The blonde sighs. “Hopeless, you are.”

 

At the top of the stairs is a long corridor lined with plush carpet. The entire floor smells of cheap perfume and cigar smoke. The Doctor holds his nose and allows himself to be maneuvered to the last door at the very end of the hall. Quick as a flash, the blonde one opens the door and the brunette shoves him inside. They shut and lock it behind him, still giggling.

 

Without turning around, the Doctor quickly takes a moment to straighten his coat and slick a hand over his hair, squaring his shoulders. Turning on his heel, he smirks at the lone figure on the massive bed across the room, wearing little else but a corset and stockings. “Hello, dear.”

 

She grins, dropping the intricate fan hiding her face. “Hello, sweetie.”

 

Lounging against the door and attempting to look at least somewhat suave, the Doctor affects a low, American drawl. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in an ugly place like this, sugar?”

 

River throws back her head and laughs, splayed rather attractively across the bed.

 

The Doctor pouts, pushing away from the door and loping over to the bed to join her. Still giggling, she pulls him down onto the mattress and crawls over him, straddling his hips. She looks positively sinful, all sultry curves and rouged cheeks, her blonde curls piled high on top of her head with just a few loose tendrils framing her face. “I had a feeling you’d turn up here sooner or later,” she says, swallowing the rest of her laughter and looking down at him fondly.

 

The Doctor melts into the mattress beneath him, wriggling a little to get comfortable and inadvertently bucking into River in the process. She bites her lip, tipping her head down to let him see her darkened gaze. “Easy, cowboy,” she purrs.

 

He flushes, then remembers what she’d said. “You knew I’d turn up? Aha!” He grins. “So there _is_ something weird.”

 

She smirks, walking her fingers slowly up his chest. “Weird always finds you, my love.”

 

“And what does that say about you, Mrs. Song?”

 

She lowers her body, her chest pressed against his and her face so close he can feel her breath and make out the blue flecks in those astonishing green eyes. “That I’m very good at finding weird too.”

 

“Lucky me.” He leans up onto his elbows and crushes his mouth against hers, sliding a hand into her intricate updo to cradle her close. She tastes soft and familiar, with just a hint of whiskey. River wraps her arms around him, fingers latching onto the lapel of his coat and her hips shifting deliciously against him. He groans, nipping at her bottom lip. Her scent surrounds him – not the cloying perfume permeating the whole place, but the smell of ancient sand and gunpowder, and just a hint of jasmine. “River,” he breathes. “Come with me. We’ll investigate together and -”

 

She shakes her head, dropping her mouth to trail hotly along his jaw. “Can’t.”

 

He fists his hand around the laces of her corset, nuzzling his nose tenderly against her temple. “Why not?”

 

“Because you’ll make the wrong decision if I do.” She pulls away, looking him square in the eye, her smile soft. “But I’ll be waiting for you when it’s all over.”

 

He sighs, mustering a grin of his own. “You always are.”

 

Across the room, the door bursts open to reveal Amy crouched down with a hairpin in one hand. The other hand is clapped over her eyes as she stands. “Alright, whatever is going on in here stops _now_. He is a married man and my daughter -”

 

“Is right here.” River lifts her head so her parents can see her face, waggling her fingers. “Hello Mum and Dad.”

 

At the sight of his daughter half-naked and on top of the Doctor, Rory slaps a hand over his eyes the same moment Amy drops hers, looking relieved. “Thank God. Thought I was going to have to go all Scottish on some handsy Madame.”

 

Ignoring the Doctor’s blushing attempts to preserve her modesty by covering certain bits of her with his hands, River smiles and pets his hair. “Don’t worry, Mummy. The only handsy Madame in here is his Missus.”


	23. outsider POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Doctor/River, from outside perspective

He’s been trying to get Song to consent to a date all year – a date, a shag, hell, even just a ruddy snog – but she has rebuffed him at every opportunity. He thought maybe she was just playing coy. He’d hoped that tonight, at the final party signaling the end of a long semester, he might get her to come round. She waltzes in nearly an hour late, her dress short and clingy, her curls free and tumbling over her shoulders. His mouth waters at the sight of her and he tracks her every move with his eyes, already planning how he’ll approach her and which room he’ll drag her into once she finally gives in.

 

Zach has heard rumors, of course, about River Song. How she’s all talk and no action. How she can swing her hips and bat her eyes and curl those lips into a teasing smile but at the end of the day, she always goes home alone. He has high hopes of changing all that tonight. And every single one of those hopes comes crashing down around his feet the moment Song turns and takes the hand of the tall, gangly looking dweeb in tweed loping along behind her.

 

He watches in stunned silence, barely hearing the beat of the music and the raucous laughter of his classmates and friends around him anymore as the dork threads his fingers through River’s hand and squeezes lightly, smiling at her like a besotted idiot. Zach waits for Song to roll her eyes or laugh at the obvious display, perhaps teasingly push him away like she does everyone else. Instead, she outright beams at him. She almost looks _shy_.

 

Song. Shy. For a moment, Zach feels dizzy.

 

She gestures to the dance floor, raising a challenging eyebrow. The dork begins to frantically shake his head, eyes wide. Song drags him out onto the floor anyway, pulling him in close. Zach bristles, watching the dork settle his hands on her hips and nuzzle his face into her hair. She doesn’t like anyone touching her hair. He tried once and got a sprained wrist for it.

 

Nudging the nearest person to him with a sharp elbow, Zach jerks his head in the direction of the couple. “Who’s the weirdo with Song?”

 

“Dunno, never seen him before.”

 

He frowns, turning back to glare at them. They’re dancing much slower than everyone else, like they’re in their own little world. Song whispers something in his ear that makes the dork blush like an idiot. He smiles exasperatedly down at her, mutters something back, and taps her nose. Actually taps her on the nose – like she’s a fucking kid.

 

Zach holds back a smirk, waiting for Song to break his wrist.

 

Instead, she wrinkles her nose and laughs.

 

Stunned, he watches with growing confusion at the dork straightens his bowtie – god, what a fucking hipster – and bends his head, brushing his mouth softly over hers. It’s innocent enough but Song quickly turns it into something else, threading a hand through the dork’s stupidly floppy hair and tilting her head up, mouth open to taste him.

 

Zach glances away with a scowl, wondering if maybe River had brought the dork along to make him jealous, letting him take all of these little liberties with her – holding her hand, dancing, touching her hair, bopping her on the nose, for god’s sake – just to rile him up. He looks up again, curious, and catches them just as they’re pulling away, still wrapped up in each other’s arms and smiling. Song isn’t looking at him with that bored, slightly predatory look she gives everyone else. The mild annoyance on her face whenever she looks at Zach, like he’s a fly who just won’t go away no matter how many times she swats at him. She looks at the dork like he’s some sort of gift she can’t believe she’s allowed to have.

 

With a disgusted sigh, Zach turns away from the nauseating sight of them. Clearly, Song prefers twat-faced losers dressed like old men. What a waste.


	24. laundry day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Laundry day on the TARDIS

Being restrained is much more fun when it’s River tying him up. When River is being tied up right along with him, the appeal is startlingly less. Squirming uncomfortably on the cold floor in his bindings, the Doctor waits for their captors to finish tying up his wife, keeping a close eye to make sure no hands wander where they shouldn’t. Not that River can’t look after herself. She’d likely break bones before he could work up a good angry rant but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?

 

Once their captors leave, he has a full view of River, which is a bit distracting. He averts his eyes, clearing his throat. “Got a plan, wife?”

 

“Isn’t that usually your area?” Her voice is all low and amused, that sultry tone she gets when she knows she’s making him uncomfortable – and enjoying it.

 

He swallows, eyes darting up to her and away again. “It’s in progress.”

 

She makes a noise that clearly conveys her skepticism.

 

He harrumphs. “Didn’t manage to bring my sonic, did you?”

 

He can almost hear her raising an incredulous brow. “And where would you like me to have stashed it?” She pauses, smirking. “Well, I can think of someplace but the last time I did that you got all cross.”

 

He flushes, going hot all over. “Only because you started without me.”

 

Her low laughter makes him shiver. “Well, no matter, sweetie. I’ve got a plan.”

 

Head darting up and eyes hopeful, he finds River out of her bindings and holding her vortex manipulator aloft. He gapes at her. “Where were you hiding _that_?”

 

“Spoilers.” She kisses his cheek and hooks her arm through his just as he feels that nauseating tug in his stomach that preludes cheap time travel.

 

In a flash, they’re hurtling through time and space, deposited in a familiar living room. The Doctor groans at the rough landing, grumbling about his sore elbow while River sits up quickly and fluffs her frizzy curls. “I hate it when you do that,” he complains. “A little warning would be nice.”

 

“I was a bit busy _saving us both_ to talk you through flight safety again, sweetie,” she says dryly.

 

He sighs. “Yes, yes. Many thanks, eternal gratitude -”

 

“Lots of oral?”

 

He chokes.

 

“What? If you’re properly grateful -”

 

“Oh my god!” In the doorway of the living room – the Doctor suddenly understands why it looks so familiar – Clara stands with a hand clapped over her eyes. “Why are you _naked_?” She peeks through her fingers, as if just to make sure. “Why are you naked and tied up? Wait, is it kinky? Don’t tell me if it’s kinky.”

 

“Not kinky.” River stands, stretching, before stooping once more to tug the ropes from around the Doctor’s ankles and wrists, rubbing the sore spots with tenderness. “Just laundry day.”

 

The Doctor catches River’s hand in his and kisses her fingers gratefully, standing and pulling her with him. “The TARDIS is washing all our clothes, nothing left to wear. Could we borrow some of yours?” He frowns, peering at Clara, who still refuses to look at them. “For some reason, saving the world is a lot more difficult naked. No one takes you seriously when you haven’t got pockets.”

 

Clara snorts. “Yeah, and I’m sure having your wife about in her altogether was doing wonders to help your focus.”

 

River beams, looking smug.

 

The Doctor blushes, gesturing vaguely in his wife’s direction. “Well, yes. Perhaps a bit of that too.”

 

Sighing, Clara turns and gestures for them to follow, leading them from the room with a hand still over her eyes. “Right this way then. I think I might have a dress you’ll look lovely in, Doctor.”


	25. still you don't regret a single day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place just after series 8's Robots of Sherwood. Story title from Girl sung by Jim Sturgess.

As they leave Robin Hood and his merry men behind, the Doctor leans against the console and fights a reluctant smile at what the irritating – and apparently actually real - thief has discovered in his absence. The tale would never be complete without Maid Marian. After all, what good is any story without love?

 

He lifts a hand unconsciously to pat his coat pocket out of habit, thoughts drifting to his own love story. Long gone now. He freezes, realizing the sheriff's robots must have confiscated more than just his sonic screwdriver. Everything is gone - the ball of rubber bands (because one never knows when a rubber band might save the day), the ace of hearts he was saving for a special occasion, the chain of paperclips, the cinnamon gum, and _her_. Gone. It was the only one he had.

 

His hearts ache with loss and he swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, forcing himself to turn to the console and type in the coordinates for Clara's home. It doesn't matter. She's gone. What use was it clinging to that old thing anyway?

 

"Looking for this?"

 

He blinks, dropping his eyes to the sonic screwdriver Clara waves under his nose with a mischievous grin.

 

"I got it back when he wasn't looking. Thought you might miss it."

 

Sonic screwdrivers are replaceable but he forces a small smile, nodding as he takes it from her and tucks it away. "Indeed I would."

 

Clara watches him slyly, biting her lip. "Found something else too."

 

He grunts absently, fiddling with the monitor.

 

"I didn't realize you were so sentimental."

 

 _That_ gets his attention.

 

He frowns, turning to look at her. "I'm not sentimental. I'm Scottish. Never were two qualities so incompatible."

 

"Dunno." She shrugs, reaching up the sleeve of her dress and pulling out a small, thin piece of square paper. He subsequently forgets how to breathe. "I think carrying around a picture of your dead wife is pretty sentimental."

 

He swallows, holding out a shaking hand.

 

Clara watches him for a moment like she'd rather tease him a bit longer, looks closely at his face, and then drops the photograph into his palm without another word.

 

He curls his fingers around it reverently, careful not to wrinkle the picture, but pointedly doesn't glance at it as he tucks it away. "Next week then?"

 

Clara nods, still watching him with a little smile. "Don't be late."

 

"Do my best, teach."

 

She walks away with the skirt of her dress in hand, turning back once she reaches the door. "She'd like it, you know. River, I mean."

 

"What?"

 

"That you haven't forgotten her."

 

With one last wink, Clara slips out the door and disappears. The Doctor stays rooted to the spot, gripped by the overwhelming need to snatch the picture from his inner coat pocket and stare greedily at every last detail just to be sure it has returned to him in exactly the same condition it was taken from him in.

 

Clara was right - he is a sentimental old man even now and he hasn't forgotten. The creased edges of the photograph, the corners curling up with wear and age. The woman in the picture, only her face and the gentle slope of her shoulders visible - tanned and grinning, the wind blowing her curls over her face and obscuring one lovely cheek. Her eyes crinkled with laughter as she looked at the young old man taking the picture.

 

He never forgets anything. When it comes to River, he never could quite decide if that was a blessing or a curse.


	26. i want no one otter than you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Doctor’s comment in series 8’s The Caretaker: “I lived among otters once for a month. Well, sulked. River and I, we had this big fight.”

"- And she never wants to put rubber duckies in the bath." He huffs, tossing a stone into the water and watching it sink. "She says it isn't romantic." His tone speaks to just how absurd he finds this particular quirk of River's.

  
A soft squeak next to him draws the Doctor from his thoughts and he listens closely to his furry friends, slouching like a petulant child being reprimanded.    
  
"You're right, of course. It _is_ more than that."  
  
Another questioning squeak follows.   
  
The Doctor scowls. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
“...”  
  
His scowl deepens. "No, I wouldn’t rather build a waterslide!"  
  
“...”  
  
"Yes, I know it’s fun but I’m not in the mood."  
  
“...”  
  
He gapes, wagging a finger at the cheeky otter to his right. "Oi, that's my wife you're talking about!"  
  
“...”  
  
"It wasn't her fault." He frowns and picks up another stone to throw. "It never is. Well, sometimes it is. Like when she steals or uses her lipstick or -"  
  
“....”  
  
"Right, sorry. Where was I?"  
  
“...”  
  
"Ah. Well, it started when I picked her up from Stormcage for a date. It was her birthday and I've been trying to top that bash with Stevie Wonder for _eons_. I had it all planned but the coordinates were a bit off."  
  
“...”  
  
  
"Okay, fine about two hundred years off, happy?"  
  
“...”  
  
The Doctor eyes his small companions with a cringe. "I accidentally landed the TARDIS on my wedding night - to Liz I."  
  
At his listeners’ scandalized squeaks, the Doctor buries his face in his hands.

 

"It was an accident, I swear! But River is so jealous this young. Blimey, my ears are still ringing from that slap." He lifts his head, rubbing his cheek. If he concentrates, he can still feel her warm little hand colliding with his skin, those eyes bright with fury. "I tried to explain but it all went wrong. Before I knew it we were having a row about all sorts of things - how I always leave my towel on the bathroom floor, how she never remembers to switch her gun off before she puts it under her pillow at night. And then she had the nerve to say none of my marriages ever count!”

 

The squeaking softens into tiny whispers and the Doctor clenches his jaw.

 

"I got so angry - if any marriage has ever meant anything, it's this one, with River. This one is... everything, really." He sighs, glancing at his smallest companions, still listening raptly. "But I didn't say that, of course."  
  
“...”  
  
"What I always do. I ran away."  
  
“...”  
  
He scratches his head, looking scolded. "Yes, terrible habit. Never run out on the ones you love." He manages a smile, tapping one little friend on its small, wet nose. "Remember that."  
  
“...”  
  
"Well, what do you think I should do?" He waits a beat, listening, then scoffs. "Apologize? Don't be ridiculous. I need something big, something grand-"  
  
“...”  
  
He blushes. "Honestly, you're almost as bad as the Missus, you lot." The Doctor stares out at the water for a moment, affecting disinterest as he risks another peek at his audience. "Do apologies really work? Never tried one before."  
  
"There's a first time for everything."  
  
For a moment, he thinks an otter said it but then he realizes it hadn't been a squeak but a voice. A very much beloved and familiar voice. He turns slowly, glancing over his shoulder with his hearts in his throat. River stands on the bank just behind him, arms crossed over her chest, looking guarded but perhaps in the mood to be benevolent.   
  
Relieved beyond words to see her, the Doctor beams and begins to scramble to his feet, bestowing one of his friends with one last grateful pat. He takes a step toward River, and when she doesn't move, he takes another, and suddenly he's standing right in front of her, scuffing his boot against the ground like a schoolboy. "Hello."  
  
"Hello."   
  
He scratches his cheek and glances back at his friends, who squeak encouragingly. He ducks his head and peers at River through his fringe hopefully. “I’m sorry, dear.”  
  
In an instant, the blank expression softens into something warm and familiar, a smile curling her lips. "Oh, I could never resist those big, sad eyes."   
  
Without another word, she grasps the Doctor by the scruff of the neck and yanks him down to her, ignoring his muffled noise of surprise as she snogs him thoroughly. The Doctor sways into her, eyes fluttering shut and feeling tingly all the way down to his toes. River releases him far too soon, looking pleased with herself at his dazed expression.   
  
"Forgiven, sweetie. On one condition."  
  
Still a bit foggy-headed, the Doctor nuzzles her nose and promises a rumbled, "Anything."  
  
"We are _not_ keeping the otters."  
  
All warm and fuzzy feelings gone, the Doctor draws back with a gasp of betrayal and whinges, "But _Rivah_!"


	27. i love you always, time is nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She always carried a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for Dark Water. Inspired by the title of the book in which Clara finds the TARDIS key.

She always carried a book. On their adventures, it was _the_ book – the only one that mattered. A bigger on the inside blue diary that held the most important love story in the history of the universe. But when they weren’t having adventures, when they were lounging about on the TARDIS or her house on Luna, hiding from worlds and people and whole star systems just to be a boring old married couple for a while, River carried another book.

 

It was just as tattered and just as reread, just as _loved_ as the diary he gave her. She had it when she was young and they were newly married, reading it with a soft smile. She had it when she was older and he was not, her grip tight around the binding and her eyes far away. She read it in the TARDIS library, curled up on the sofa with her feet in his lap and her reading glasses perched adorably on her nose. She read it at the kitchen table, head bent over the pages and curls tumbling into her eyes as she underlined bits in pen.

 

In the beginning, he pestered her endlessly.

 

_“What’s that?”_

_“A book, honey. Such a tragedy, you are – face of a baby and eyes of an old man.”_

_“Oi!”_

 

or

 

_“What are you reading, wife?”_

_“A memoir of my life written by someone else.”_

_“Rivah, that doesn’t make any sense.”_

_“Neither do you half the time, sweetie, but I’m still here.”_

 

or even

 

_“What’s that?”_

_“A book.”_

_“Can I have a peek?”_

_“No.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because it’s mine.”_

_“Rivah, we’re married now. You have to share.”_

_“Says who?”_

_“I don’t know but what’s mine is yours and all that rubbish!”_

_“If that’s true, where’s my TARDIS key?”_

_“You don’t need a key! You’ve never needed a key!”_

_“That may be but a girl likes a symbol of commitment, Doctor.”_

_“This is your symbol!”_

_“Hmm. I do like the bowtie… I think I’ll keep you.”_

_He grumbled. She kissed him._

 

He never did find out the title – at least not while she was alive. It’s centuries later, gray-haired and Scottish, that he stumbles across it. He knows instantly that it’s the one River always kept from him. He almost walks away and leaves it where it is. He’s done with all that now. It’s over.

 

His hearts call him a liar and his traitorous fingers agree, already reaching for the book. He picks it up and turns it over. _The Time Traveler’s Wife_.

 

Curious, he thumbs through it idly and stops when he spots ink on the page. River had underlined a passage:“Don't you think it's better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?” 

 

He swallows thickly and drops the book, jaw tight as he turns and stalks away. No. It hadn’t been.

 

It takes a while but he finds the book again eventually. He always finds her. Or she always finds him. They find each other. It’s been so long it’s difficult to remember. He clutches at memories of  _hello sweetie_ and the feel of her curled around him in the dark like a dying man gasping for air.

 

He opens the book to the page he’d read last time and slips the key between the pages reverently. “There you are, dear,” he whispers, and slots the book into place between ancient and crumbling Gallifreyan literature on the shelf. “Better late than never, eh?”


	28. love is a promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love is not an emotion. Love is a promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor spoiler for the finale.

“What did you do?”

 

River slid her eyes from the body on the ground to look at him but he couldn’t stop gazing in horror at the gun still firmly held in her grip. “He was going to kill you.”

 

She blinked at him, as if she couldn’t begin to understand what he was so upset about. The Doctor turned from her and brought a shaking hand to his eyes. She was still so young, fresh from Berlin. She didn’t _know_.

 

“Doctor?”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, seeing a blank face, blood pooled around a limp body, cooling and congealing.

 

“Are you angry?”

 

“Yes,” he snapped. “Yes, I’m angry.”

 

“But… why?”

 

She sounded so lost. He breathed out steadily and swallowed. “Please, just… go back to the TARDIS while I clean up your mess.”

 

“But -”

 

“Now, River.” He could feel her eyes on him, dazed and hurt. “I can’t look at you right now.”

 

She left without another word and he waited until her footsteps faded into the distance before he steeled himself and turned with dread to face the body she had left behind.

 

He found her hours later sitting in the repair swing under the TARDIS console. Her eyes were dry but she stared off into the distance, arms wrapped tightly around her middle. Hearts aching, the Doctor stepped off the stairs and made his way toward her. She didn’t look at him but when he nudged her gently, she moved to make room for him. The swing was small and when he sat, she had nowhere to go but his lap. He didn’t mind, wrapping himself around her and fitting his chin over her shoulder.

 

River shuddered. “You said you loved her.”

 

“Who?”

 

“River Song.”

 

He brushed her hair from the back of her neck, sweeping curls to one side. “You are her.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“River, you’re the same person.”

 

She shook her head stubbornly.

 

“You are,” he insisted. “Strong and brave and clever and -”

 

“A murderer.”

 

His breath caught. He dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “That makes two of us.”

 

“Doctor -”

 

“Nothing you say will change how I feel. I meant it then and I still mean it now.”

 

“But how?” She sounded desperate, teetering on the edge of tears. “How can it still be true now? You were so angry. You couldn’t even look at me -”

 

“River, I’m going to get angry with you. In fact, sometimes I think I spend most of my time absolutely infuriated with you.”

 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 

“Yes.” He bit her shoulder gently, just to make sure she was paying attention. “Because anger is a flimsy human emotion. It fades. Love isn’t an emotion, River. Love is a promise.”

 

She sniffled and he pretended not to hear. “And what promise is that, exactly?”

 

He buried a smile in the crook of her neck. “Always and completely.”

 

-

 

He found her in her parents’ bedroom, still in that black dress he had been so eager to ogle her in only a few hours ago. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a pile of Amy’s high heels in the middle of the floor. In her arms, she held Rory’s jacket. Her eyes glittered but she did not cry.

 

He crossed the room slowly, unsure if she would even want him near her right now. He had treated her abominably all night out of the sheer bloody panic the mere thought of losing his Amelia and Rory had caused. Still, he had lost them anyway.  He was left with nothing but an afterword and the knowledge that River deserved better than he had ever given her.

 

The Doctor drew in a breath and settled hesitantly next to his wife.

 

River reached for his hand without even looking.

 

Everything within him settled and calmed as she laced her fingers through his. He blinked away grateful tears and pursed his lips. “River, I’m -”

 

“Don’t.” She glanced at him, eyes soft and shining. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

 

He swallowed thickly. “Are we – I mean, OK? Are we -”

 

“Of course we are.” She squeezed his fingers and managed a smile. “I made a promise.”

 

His hearts swelled in his chest and his eyes stung. He nodded hurriedly and smiled back. “Me too.”

 

They sat there holding hands in the Ponds’ bedroom, staring together at Rory’s jacket, and did not let go.

 

-

 

Centuries passed. He lost River. He found her. And he lost her again. For a while, he lost himself too, grumpy and stoic and _Scottish_.

 

The grief faded with time and age. Such a human emotion, grief.

 

He could say her name without crying. He kept a spare TARDIS key in _The Time Traveler’s Wife_ and smiled because he thought she’d like that if she knew. He kept her alive in stories about otters and the way he snapped his fingers to open the doors of his ship. He swore and thought only of how much delight she would take in it if she could only hear him.

 

River was dead. The world where they said their vows never existed. He no longer wore the bowtie he’d bound their hands together with. But he still remembered his promise. He planned to keep it.


	29. "i'm going to protect you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'm going to protect you."

She’s curled up in a cardboard box when he finds her, wrapped up in clothes far too big for her and shivering in the cool night air. The Doctor pockets his sonic and stoops to gather her into his arms, this tiny, new little body. He can still smell the regeneration energy on her skin.

 

Holding her tight against his chest, the Doctor brushes a tender kiss against the fuzzy curls on top of her head and starts back for the TARDIS just as it begins to rain. Melody doesn’t stir, one little hand slipping from her bundle of clothes to latch onto the lapel of his tweed coat. She holds onto him like she trusts him already, and though he knows it’s only because she’s weak and tired and utterly clueless about who holds her so near, it still makes him smile.

 

She snuffles against his bowtie as he shuts the TARDIS doors behind them and he feels his hearts pitter-patter in his chest. It won’t do to get attached. He’d only come to pick her up and take her to Leadworth before Amy and Rory found her. They’re much older now, his Ponds, but they never stopped searching for their lost little girl. If they found her now, he wasn’t sure they could give her up again. Being raised by them just wasn’t in the cards for Melody. She had to grow up with them instead.

 

“You’re going to give them hell, Melody Pond,” he says with a soft smile. He shifts her in his arms to pilot the TARDIS with one hand. “They’ll love you anyway, you know. Always will.”

 

He keys in the coordinates and flips the lever, sending them hurtling into the vortex and right toward Leadworth. Melody furrows her brow at the noise and he curses himself for forgetting to put the brakes on. He stumbles toward the blue boringers and smashes them with his free hand, clutching Melody to him with the other as the ship finally settles.

 

He breathes a sigh of relief and grins down at her, still fast asleep against his chest. Slowly edging toward the jumpseat, he continues as if they’d never been interrupted. “That’s the thing about family – they care about you no matter how much of a git you are.” He smiles, settling into the jumpseat and bopping her softly on her tiny nose. “We’ll learn that together, you and I.”

 

Melody buries her face in his bowtie and gives a sleepy little huff.

 

His hearts swell and he tries to blink away the adoration in his eyes as he gazes down at her. This little poppet was going to be his River one day. It was impossible not to look at her with wonder. “We’ll do everything together, Melody Pond. You and me, time and space. We just have to part for a little while first.”

 

The bundle in his arms squirms, brow furrowing again in her sleep. He decides she must be as unhappy about their separation as he and he bounces her a bit in his arms to soothe her.

 

“Oi, none of that, Pond.” He taps her nose again, smiling. “Like a bad penny, me. I’ll still be around – someone has to look after you.”

 

He feels the TARDIS settle and knows they’ve arrived. His hearts squeeze and twist into knots in his chest. It’s time to let go.

 

He has to drop her off with the Zuckers and let her grow up with little Amelia and Rory. She’ll see him again one day, when the time is right. And in the meantime, he’ll watch over her from afar and protect her as he always has done.

 

“Time to go be amazing, littlest Pond.”

 

He doesn’t move.

 

His arms tighten around the bundle snuggled against his chest. He bounces her a bit more and presses his nose against her hair again, breathing in the regeneration energy lingering in her curls. “Just another minute, eh?”

 

The TARDIS hums warmly around them and little Melody Pond sleeps on.


	30. convincing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Congratulations, you actually convinced me to sleep with you.”

He shows up wearing a fez. Of course he does. She was just beginning to make friends here. River turns back to the bar and keeps nursing her drink, hoping that if she keeps her head down, he won’t see her.

 

“Rivah!”

 

She knocks back the rest of her drink with a sigh, signaling for another.

 

He very nearly falls into the barstool beside her, clambering onto it with all the grace of a toddler still finding its feet. His grin is just as childlike but somehow inexplicably irresistible all the same. She averts her gaze to the fez on top of his head and glares, deciding that sometimes, she actually does hate him. Just a little bit.

 

“There you are.” He beams. “I’ve been all over the University looking for you. I thought you’d be studying in the library. Your midterms are tomorrow!”

 

She frowns. “How do you know that?”

 

He tugs at his lapels and she wants to slap the smug grin off his face. “I know everything.”

 

She raises an eyebrow.

 

He tries to raise one back, fails utterly, and deflates. “Spoilers.”

 

She grumbles something unladylike under her breath and reaches for her new drink. Taking a sip, she studies him in silence – this gangly, baby-faced, clumsy idiot she’d turned her life upside down for. She sets her drink back on the bar and tilts her head, watching him watch her with wide, curious hazel eyes. “Sometimes,” she muses, “I wonder why I’m ever going to shag you.”

 

He chokes on air, the tops of his cheekbones and the tips of his ears turning bright red almost instantly. If she were more sober, she might have delighted in it. It _is_ adorable. But the man is always adorable – like a five year old on a constant sugar high. Adorable has never been her type. And yet…

 

“River -”

 

“You’re not my type.”

 

He scowls.

 

“I like dangerous and wild men. I like broad chests -”

 

He puffs out his own and she bites back a smile despite herself.

 

“I like muscular arms -”

 

He glances down at his bicep with a look of concentration and she wonders if he might be trying to flex his ridiculous spaghetti limbs.

 

“I like smooth talking, arrogant arseholes who never spend the night. That is my type, Doctor.” She clenches her jaw and looks away, staring into her drink. “You aren’t any of those things. I don’t -”

 

“You’re not my type either, you know.”

 

She glances at him and finds him watching her with dark, narrowed eyes. His gaze burns into her in a way it hadn’t only a second ago, and for a moment, she believes she’s looking at another man entirely. “What?”

 

“You tried to kill me. Succeeded, in fact.”

 

She bites her lip.

 

“I hate guns. You carry one with you everywhere.”

 

She muscles down the urge to drop her gaze to her thigh holster, just under her skirt.

 

“You’re studying to be an archaeologist and I can’t think of anything more _boring_.”

 

River frowns, bristling.

 

“You are violent and mad and utterly infuriating.”

 

“Then why are we even -”

 

“You’re also kind and clever and funny and have the biggest capacity for love and forgiveness than anyone I’ve ever met.” River glances up in surprise and finds him smiling at her, soft-eyed and adoring once again. “And I don’t deserve you. But I’m far too selfish to let you go.”

 

She blinks at him, feeling a strange but persistent lump in her throat. “Congratulations,” she finally manages, and her voice wobbles embarrassingly. “You’ve actually convinced me to sleep with you.”

 

Clearing her throat, she hops off her barstool and takes his hand while he’s still blushing and stammering. She drags him with her through the bar and toward the toilets, shoving him into one and shutting the door behind them. Making sure to knock off his fez first, she pins him against the sink with a predatory grin.

 

“No, no,” he squeaks as she yanks at his bowtie with her teeth. “River, we can’t -”

 

“Sure we can, sweetie.” She lets the bowtie flutter to the floor and latches her mouth onto his tempting throat, relishing the whimper he releases. “God, you smell good. What is that? Eau du Time Lord?”

 

His hands settle on her hips and for a moment, his fingers curl tightly there and she thinks he’s going to drag her in and ravish her. But then he seems to make up his mind, pushing her away with a determined gleam in his eye. “River, we can’t. It’s not time.”

 

“Ah, so there definitely is a right time then?” She grins and he flushes. “Why not now?”

 

He huffs, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Because we’re in a loo in a pub, River. And it’ll be your first – well, with me anyway – and you deserve more than -”

 

She snorts. “And what do I deserve, Doctor? Lit candles and rose petals? Champagne and sweet nothings in my ear?”

 

He stoops a little to look directly into her eyes, that maddeningly besotted smile still on his ridiculous face. “Yes.”

 

River stares at him, that damned lump rising in her throat again.

 

The Doctor sighs and leans in, kissing her forehead. “Buy you another drink?”

 

She lets him take her hand.


	31. new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Young!Eleven & Young!River

The trouble with living in a college dormitory – other than the tiny shared living space, listening to people shag through the thin wall separating her dorm from the one next door, and never having a bloody moment’s peace – is that in the middle of the night, when everyone else is asleep, River has to be quiet so she doesn’t wake her human roommate.

 

Most nights, she whiles away the hours in the university library but tonight, she feels the need for fresh air. Or at least the manufactured moon version of it. She leaves her dormitory behind and wanders outside, her book bag slung over her shoulder. Reading over her notes will certainly be better under the stars than in a dusty corner of the library – or at least the man she’s written her notes about would certainly think so.

 

Rummaging through her bag with her head down, River fishes for her notes and doesn’t bother to look where she’s going. It isn’t as if she has to share the sidewalk with any – she crashes into something big, blue, and solid, smacking her head against the wood.

 

River growls and drops her bag in the middle of the pavement to thump a hand against the door. “What idiot gave you a license? You can’t even bloody park properly!”

 

The door creaks open and the Doctor peers out at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “You.”

 

She raises a brow at him. “Me?”

 

God, even with that face he looks like a grandfather, all severe and disapproving. She shouldn’t like that. “What are you doing on the moon?”

 

She settles a hand on her hip. “I go to school here, idiot. What are you doing here?”

 

“Stabilizing the TARDIS.” He squints at her. “Bit old to still be in university, aren’t you?”

 

“Old?” She glares. “That’s rich coming from -” She pauses, sniffing the air. “You smell different.”

 

He blinks at her. “What?”

 

“You smell -” She latches onto his coat, yanking him toward her.

 

He yelps, somehow managing to flinch away from her and cling to her sweatshirt all at once. “Well, this is a bit forward.”

 

She ignores him, pressing her face into his neck and inhaling.

 

The Doctor shudders.

 

Eyes widening, River shoves him away from her and he stumbles back into the TARDIS, arms windmilling awkwardly at his sides. “Oh my god, you’re new!”

 

He gapes at her. “You can tell that by smelling me?!”

 

“Of course I can, I’m -” River stops herself just in time, snapping her mouth shut and frowning.

 

“You’re what?”

 

“I can’t tell you. What is it you call it again?”

 

He stares at her.

 

“Spoilers!”

 

His mouth drops open. “I don’t call it that! You call it that!”

 

“You were the one spouting it off every other minute in Berlin-”

 

He yelps and covers her mouth with his hand. “Spoilers!”

 

River licks his palm.

 

He flushes, yanking his hand away and stuffing it into his trouser pocket. “You’re-” She can see him going through a whole list of words to call her _infuriating_ , _mad_ , _absolutely_ _bloody_ _terrifying_ before he finally settles on, “Young.”

 

“ _You’re_ young,” she counters, glaring.

 

“Oi, I’m older than you, River Song!”

 

She tilts her head to the side and regards him with a sly smile. “And how would you know that, sweetie?”

 

“Well you can’t be older than-” He pauses, studying her. “Can you?”

 

She opens her mouth.

 

“No, wait!” He sticks his fingers in his ears and shakes his head like a child. “Don’t tell me. Spoilers!”

 

River grins, latching onto his wrists and pulling his fingers from his ears. “I like you young,” she decides, leaning into him and catching another whiff of regeneration energy. “You’re fun.”

 

He swallows audibly. “Right then.” He busies himself with straightening his lapels and clearing his throat, looking everywhere but at her now, like her face itself could be a spoiler. “I’ll just be off. Don’t want to, you know, rip a hole in the space time -”

 

River curls a hand around his bowtie and yanks, sending him stumbling into her. She leans up on her tiptoes and crushes his mouth with her own before he can protest. He puts on quite a show of reluctance, squeaking and flailing his arms, but he doesn’t pull away. Not even when her tongue slips into his mouth.

 

Smelling his regeneration energy was lovely enough but tasting it in his mouth and on the tip of his tongue as he strokes it against hers – she clings to him tighter and moans, pressing herself against the flat planes of his gangly body. The Doctor whimpers. They could technically shag, she reasons, even this young. It isn’t as though they’d have to talk…

 

River reaches for the buttons on his shirt.

 

The Doctor stumbles away from her with a ragged gasp, clutching his tweed coat around him like a modest 17th century maiden. “ _River_!”

 

“Sorry, sweetie.” She licks her lips. “Couldn’t resist.”

 

“Don’t -” His voice cracks and he cringes, trying again. “Don’t mention it.”

 

He stumbles back into his TARDIS with his cheeks flushed and his eyes glazed, mumbling to himself about picking up Amelia. River watches him with a smile and a murmured, “See you soon, time boy.”


	32. cheering up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “This was the first time he couldn’t cheer her up.”

It’s been two days and she still hasn’t moved.

 

The Doctor peers in at his wife from the doorway of their bedroom, just barely able to make out her shape on the bed through the dark. She’s curled up beneath the blankets with her back facing him but he still knows she’s crying. River has always been very good at hiding her tears. Her shoulders don’t shake, she doesn’t release even one shuddering sob. He only knows because he knows her and he’s spent years learning all of her tells.

 

She banished him from their bedroom yesterday but he hasn’t been able to stay away. He suffers along with her, camped out in the hallway outside their room and waiting for her to let him back in again. He hovers in the doorway, shuffling his feet and staring with wide eyes. “River?” He calls softly.

 

He wants to ask her if she needs anything, if there’s something he can do to make any of this better for her – he’ll move stars, planets, whole solar systems if it will make her smile again – but the words form a lump in his throat and he can’t say anything but her name.

 

On the bed, River doesn’t move.

 

He takes a step inside the room but dares not venture further. “Can, um, can I come in?”

 

He watches as the bundle of blankets moves. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to send him away again and his knees tremble. River’s slender hand slips from her blankets and extends toward him. Her fingers shake but she’s beckoning him closer – _finally_ – and he stumbles toward her with his eyes stinging. He clambers onto the bed, fighting with blankets and pillows until he finally finds her curled into a tight ball.

 

He wraps his arms around her and hauls her against his chest, encouraged when River reaches for his hands and presses them against her stomach. He laces their fingers together and buries his face in her neck, holding her in his tight embrace until they both stop shaking.

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he whispers, “I’m sorry, honey.”

 

Her breath hitches and she sniffles, gripping his hands.

 

“We can try again.”

 

“No, my love.” Her shuddering sigh breaks his hearts. “We just aren’t meant to have a baby.”


	33. insecurity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River feeling insecure and Eleven comforting her

River is tense and unmoving beneath him, blinking up at the ceiling as he hovers over her. Eyes rimmed red and glistening, she refuses to look at him but he knows she’s listening. So he trails a fingertip across her naked waist and keeps talking.

 

“My hands fit perfectly just here.” He settles them in the curves of her waist, fingers curling and thumbs stroking her abdomen. “Bespoke, you might say. Centuries walking the universe like an aimless wanderer and then you, River Song…All I have to do is pull you in and I’m home.”

 

River sighs and her voice trembles when she speaks. “Sweetie, I know what you’re trying to do and I appreciate it but please, just -”

 

He slides his hands from her waist up to her breasts, pressing his mouth in the valley between them. “And these. Endlessly distracting, they are. I swear you do it on purpose.”

 

She bites her lip, eyes pinned somewhere over his shoulder. His thumbs caress her nipples and he watches her cheeks flush. They lost Amy and Rory a matter of hours ago and while part of him wants nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sob, he knows he’s needed here. Crying won’t bring back his Ponds. They’re gone but River is here. She’s here and she’s hurting.

 

 _Ageless god who insists on the face of a twelve year old_ and _hide the damage_ echo in his head on a loop, tormenting him with his failures as a husband. They need to talk, no matter how much River would rather lose herself in mindless sex. He isn’t letting her leave this bed until she can see herself as he always has.

 

He shifts on the bed, moving to press his ear against her chest, right over her hearts. They thump steadily against his ear and he smiles. “Do you have any idea what these hearts mean to me, wife?” River doesn’t answer but she doesn’t feel quite as tense beneath him any more. He takes it as a good sign and carries on, unable to keep the wonder he feels from leaking out into his words. “You’re like me. My match, my equal, my -” _Everything_. He lifts his head from her chest and beams at her. River allows herself to gaze back at him but when her eyes begin to water, she glances away again, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “I’m not alone any more. Not with you.”

 

River swallows heavily. “I’m not – I age, sweetie.”

 

“And if you hadn’t noticed, I’m on my last regeneration, Song.” He kisses the place over her hearts. “I’m aging too.”

 

“Don’t tell me we’re going to grow old together?”

 

His chest tightens and he blinks away the sting in his eyes. She's young when she leaves him. Young and brave and - He forces the memory violently away and attempts a smile, reaching for a curl resting against her shoulder. Twirling it around his finger, he says, “I’d like to see you with gray hair, River Song. My favorite thing about you, you know – this miraculous space hair.”

 

“Space hair? What -”

 

“Shush, it’s space hair. Don’t interrupt. It’s terribly rude, River.” He kisses the curl still wrapped around his finger, smacking his lips together. “It shares all my favorite qualities of yours – it’s wild and mad and it defies all bloody reason.”

 

She snorts and the sound buoys his hearts.

 

He turns his attention to her mouth and lets go of her hair to tap his fingertip against her lips. “Probably not necessary to say why I like this part of you.” She rolls her eyes and the amusement in them after hours of hollow-eyed staring is almost more than he can bear. He doesn’t bother hiding his smile. Leaning up, he presses a kiss to the tip of her nose and delights in the way she wrinkles it. “I love this nose.”

 

River grumbles. “I have my father’s nose.”

 

“Oi, this is a brilliant nose!” He frowns at her, kissing the tip of it again and then trailing his mouth over the bridge of her nose with tenderness. “Very Roman. Not everybody looks sexy with a Roman nose, you know. But you, River Song, defy the odds.”

 

She lifts her gaze from staring at his throat to look at him properly and he’s never seen her quite so shy and unsure and _not River_. It at once melts his hearts and steels his resolve. He turns his attention from her nose and trails his mouth up until he reaches her eyes. Her eyelids flutter shut and he kisses them both softly, then moves to the lines around them she seems to think he doesn’t know she frets over. He feels her tense as he kisses them, vulnerable and hating it. Waiting for him to find something good to say about the one thing she thinks repels him most of all – age, decay, damage. He wishes he could tell her nothing terrifies him so much as the reality of losing her. Until then, he’ll cling to her and every last second of watching her grow older.

 

He quiets her fears with another firm kiss to the corner of her eyes and pulls back to look at her with a softly declared, “Beautiful.”

 

River smiles.


	34. raiders of the lost ark AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Raiders of the Lost Ark AU with River as Indiana Jones and Eleven as Marion Ravenwood

“Hello Doctor.”

 

He smiles without humor at the shadow she casts on the wall in front of him – all curves and curls. He still remembers them under his hands even now. “Doctor River Song.” He dusts off his hands and settles them on his hips, turning. His breath catches at the sight of her, just as he remembers but somehow more beautiful than his memory. He tries not to let it show but she always knew the effect she had on him. “I always knew some day you’d come walking back through my door.”

 

She has no pithy retort at the ready, only watches him with soft green eyes that dance with merriment. He taught himself a long time ago not to fall for those eyes but that had been in the long years of her absence. It was another matter entirely with the woman standing right in front of him – the mad, dangerous woman who stole his heart and ran off with it. She hadn’t the courtesy to take him with her.

 

He turns his back on her and starts for the bar, picking up empty glasses that clink together, pocketing his tips as he goes. River stays where she is, still watching him. It sets his teeth on edge. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I need your help.”

 

He can’t contain his snort of laughter and he drops the glasses behind the bar, glancing up at her in disbelief. “Seriously?” He shoves his hair out of his eyes and glowers. “You think I’m going to help you? After what happened last time?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

 

“You shot me!”

 

“It was an accident!”

 

“I nearly died!”

 

River huffs a curl out of her eyes. “It was a flesh wound. Don’t be such a baby.”

 

“A baby? A ba -” He snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head firmly. “No. The answer is no. Whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into this time, River Song, you are not dragging me into it with you.”

 

And of course, because this is the sort of life one leads in the company of River Song, his words are punctuated by the sound of gunfire and shattering glass. Within moments, they’re surrounded and River is at his side, weapon drawn as she shoves him behind her.

 

“Wonderful,” he snaps, glaring. “You are paying for those windows when we get out of this.”

 

Her lips quirk into a smile at the word _we_. She cocks her gun. “Yes, sweetie.”


	35. 3 plus 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 3 times he thought she was dead and one time she was

**i.)**

 

Her lives bleed into his like a shot of something warm and heavy, like whiskey on a cold night. He hates whiskey this go round, but this is different. It’s pleasant and fuzzy and makes his head tingle. Or maybe that’s because River’s lips are warm and soft against his.

 

And then the tingle is gone and River slumps against him. Her head drops to his chest and she doesn’t move. Suddenly he can’t breathe again. His arms and legs feel sluggish and tired but he struggles against the urge to lay down and sleep. He fights to keep his eyes open, pushing at River’s shoulders but she doesn’t stir. He says her name over and over again but his voice sounds like it’s echoing down from a long tunnel, too far away to make a difference.

 

His throat feels like it has a heartbeat.

 

“Doctor?”

 

It’s Rory – he knows somewhere in his fuzzy head that it’s Rory and he’s concerned and scared and he just wants to help. That doesn’t stop him from very nearly snarling when he reaches out to take River from him. “No, don’t touch her.” He clutches River to his chest and bends over her, his hair brushing her forehead as he pats her cheeks and says her name again. She remains unresponsive and he feels a sob claw its way up his throat.

 

She doesn’t get to do this. She doesn’t get to waltz into his life, turn it upside down and leave. She doesn’t get to kiss him and kill him and _save him_ without sticking around after. He is the one who runs from scary things. Not River.

 

He presses his lips firmly against hers, hoping that maybe he can transfer those precious lives back where they belong – with her. It doesn’t work. There is no spectacular light show. She doesn’t snap open her eyes and gasp for breath like he had. Nothing at all happens. The Doctor keeps his face pressed against hers anyway because the alternative – pulling away and staring at her lifeless features – doesn’t bear thinking about.

 

“Doctor? Doctor, she’s breathing. We need to get her to hospital.”

 

He shakes his head but his hearts leap as he fumbles between them to feel the rise and fall of her chest for himself. He places his trembling hand over her hearts and waits.

 

She breathes in. She breathes out.

 

As the Doctor gathers her into his arms and staggers to his feet on shaking legs, he relearns how to breathe again right along with her.

 

**ii.)**

 

“River? River can you hear me?” He speaks frantically into the radio, his hearts thudding in his ears and his palms clammy with anxiety. _River River River get out of there **now**_. “Forget about the records. You have to go. The ship is going to -”

 

The rest of his plea is lost in the cacophony of the explosion overhead, the ship floating above the planet bursting apart at the seams. The sky flares bright red with the brilliant flames. Debris rains down from the sky and the people on the ground scramble for cover, screaming.

 

The Doctor doesn’t move, staring unblinkingly at the radio in his hand.

 

His hearts plummet down to his toes and his knees give out right along with them. _No_. The radio tumbles from his hand and drops into the dirt beside him but he’s too busy staring blankly to notice. _No no no_. She can’t be dead. She doesn’t die here, not now. He knows when she dies. He saw it for himself. Has seen it every night in his sleep since. This is not how River Song dies.

 

Time can be rewritten.

 

His eyes sting. The breath he takes hitches in his chest and the exhale sounds more like a sob. “River.”

 

“What?”

 

He chokes, scrambling on his knees in the dirt to turn around and gape up at her through watery eyes. She stands over him wearing that smug, triumphant grin, her hands on her hips, vortex manipulator strapped to her wrist, and god he wants to throw his radio at her head for scaring the life out of him but the only thing he can do is throw his arms around her knees and press his face into her thigh.

 

River stumbles, her hands catching in his hair to steady herself. “Sweetie?”

 

He doesn’t answer. Can’t answer, not with a lump the size of a planet lodged in his throat.

 

She sighs and her fingers are gentle in his hair, her voice equally so when she speaks. “Come on, honey. Let’s find where the natives stash the tea.”

 

**iii.)**

 

It’s the usual story. An entire species bent on destroying the Doctor and taking over the planet. He’s surrounded, staring down the leader with his hands up. He keeps his voice soft and placating and he’s absolutely confident he has everything under control. He signals for River to lower her weapon.

 

When the leader fires a shot right at his chest, he isn’t ready. But River is.

 

“River, no!”

 

She shoves him out of the way and as the Doctor stumbles back with nothing but a sore arm, River hits the floor with a gaping wound in her chest and stays absolutely still. No one else dares move either, staring at the Doctor as he screams and drops to his knees beside her.

 

“You bloody stupid woman,” he chokes, yanking at her shirt and pushing it aside to get a better look at the wound. “What were you thinking?”

 

And oh god the wound is bad. It’s really, really bad. He can see bone and muscle and – he chokes on his own bile. Tears well in his eyes but he stubbornly ignores them, wrestling out of his coat and balling it up to press against her chest and stem the blood flow.

 

“River? River, honey, look at me.”

 

She looks so pale. He can’t even see her breathing – _no_.

 

“River!” He shakes her, swearing under his breath. “Don’t do this to me again.”

 

He throws aside his coat and presses his bare hands over the bloody wound, closing his eyes. He lets the regeneration energy flow through his fingertips, concentrating on knitting together organs and muscle, mending skin. When the job is done, he pulls away and stares at her chest with frantic, mad desperation, willing it to have worked, willing her to sodding well _breathe_ –

 

“My eyes are up here, honey.”

 

When he laughs, he finally lets the tears come.

 

**\+ i.)**

 

“Say it like you’re going to come back.”

 

It takes every single shred of willpower he has left to release her hands and step back. It hurts like the separation of a limb and he ducks his head to hide the tears in his eyes, swallowing back a sob. He glances up again because this is his last moment with her and as much as it hurts, nothing could stop him from drinking in the sight of her one last time. “See you around, Professor River Song.”

 

Her smile is a sad one but still somehow wide and bright enough to light his darkened tomb. “Till the next time, Doctor.”

 

When she fades away, he stares at the spot where she’d been and part of him holds onto the wild, desperate hope that it’ll be just like all the other times he thought he’d lost her for good. She’ll turn up with that wide, smug grin and toss her curls, teasing him for thinking her so easily defeated. He’ll be too busy clinging to her for dear life to scold her. If he could just have another chance, he’d never let go again.

 

He shakes his head, turning away. It’s too late to save River and it might even be too late to save Clara but he has to try. There is nothing left to lose.

 

He steps into his timeline and falls.


	36. new year's eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: accidentally meeting on New Year’s Eve

It was Clara’s idea to come here – the biggest party planet in the universe to celebrate New Year’s Eve. She’s off somewhere now, dancing with a humanoid with four hands and enjoying herself a bit too much. The Doctor had made a quick exit as soon as he could, winding through the crowd and finding refuge on a balcony overlooking the city. It’s empty save for him but that’s exactly what he wants right now. He’s in no mood for a celebration. He can’t remember the last time he was in the mood to celebrate anything.

 

He leans over the balcony railing, stares down at the city lights, and tells himself he isn’t brooding or pining or anything else Clara would say if she saw him hunched over and frowning like this. He just…he hates parties now. He hates parties and dancing and anything that reminds him that once, he had someone. He had a wife he loved. A wife who loved parties and dancing and any excuse to feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her. Not that any of those eyes mattered. She only cared if he was looking.

 

“What’s this? A dashing boy like you without a date?”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head firmly. Sometimes, he hears her voice. On nights when the TARDIS is too quiet or in places they’ve been before. Sometimes in places they never went together. He hears her when he’s alone or in a crowd, when he’s consciously missing her or when his mind is busy and not thinking of her at all. Well, mostly not thinking of her. He has a mind capable of working at full capacity at all times. He is always thinking of her.

 

A hand settles on his shoulder, small and warm and familiar.

 

His breath catches in his throat.

 

 _It’s Clara_ , he tells himself. _Just Clara_.

 

He turns to ask her if she’s had her fill of the party already, his mouth open to tease her. He stops mid-turn when he catches a glimpse of her. No words come to him but his mouth stays open. River shuts it for him with gentle fingers, smirking. “Like the dress then?”

 

She could have been wearing nothing at all and it wouldn’t have occurred to him. He can’t tear his eyes away from her face. He nods anyway, swallowing around his dry throat. She’s really here – alive and whole and gorgeous in front of him. His eyes burn with the effort of forcing back tears, not wanting her to see.

 

But she does see. River always sees everything.

 

Her brow furrows but she says nothing, offering him a hand. He takes it without question and lets her pull him in. Out of habit, his other hand settles at her waist but it takes a few moments of swaying with her before it registers in his head that they’re dancing. He forces himself to stop staring at her and pay attention. The music from inside finally filters through to his ears and he concentrates on the steps, on the way she hums along – he’d almost forgotten she did that and oh god, how could he have forgotten something so precious?

 

His hand flexes at her waist, fingers clenching in her dress to keep her as close as he can manage as they move together. Her dress is nice – a green velvet that brings out her eyes. He tells her so in a choked whisper and she smiles, her fingers stroking the back of his neck. “Thank you, sweetie.”

 

He doesn’t speak any more, too busy drinking in every single detail. He catalogues it all over again down to the last minutia – the gentle slope of her shoulders, the elegant line of her throat, that bump in the middle of her nose he always liked kissing, the wild curls of her hair. His memory had tamed the curls, made them neater and subdued and not nearly frizzy enough. He buries his face in it now, breathing in the scent of ancient dust and the smoky aroma of the vortex that never really leaves her.

 

His study is not a subtle one and he knows that River can tell something is off. He can tell in the way she doesn’t tease him for staring or scold him for gripping her so tightly her dress wrinkles. He can tell because she guides him through the steps of a waltz like she’s dancing with a man made of porcelain who might break if she handles him too indelicately.

 

Inside, the music stops and the crowd begins to count down.

 

River stops dancing but she doesn’t slip from his grasp and he doesn’t even try to release her.

 

_“Three…”_

 

River smoothes a hand over his back and traces over his spine with a fingertip. “How long has it been?”

 

_“Two…”_

 

“Spoilers.”

 

_“One…”_

 

She turns her head and kisses him as shouts of _Happy New Year!_ ring out from the crowded dance hall. The Doctor hears nothing but the sound of his own desperate whimper as River parts her lips and her tongue slides against his. She tastes just as he remembers, just as vibrant and spicy and full of aching tenderness.

 

He clings to her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and tries not to think of what he’ll do when he has to let her walk away. He doesn’t think about fetching Clara from the party and taking her home. He doesn’t think about locking himself away in the TARDIS to grieve his wife all over again. He doesn’t think about anything but here and now, when he feels whole for the first time since she flounced out of his ship with a cheerful _see you when I get back, honey!_ Nothing matters but this – a last goodbye at the start of a new beginning.

 

When they finally part, River strokes a hand over his cheek and smiles. “What is it they say? Whatever you’re doing at the stroke of midnight is what you’ll be doing the rest of the year?”

 

He kisses her nose and cannot reply.

 

“Well.” She strokes her fingers over his bowtie, oblivious to the ache in his hearts. “What a lucky boy, you are.”


	37. puddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: timebaby

The Doctor was much calmer about all this than Amy ever thought he would be. She thought he would be pacing and flailing his arms. In her imagination, he most definitely fainted at some point. Part of her thought maybe he wouldn’t even be present at all, that he’d run off like a scaredy cat and she would be the one holding River’s hand, coaching her through the entire thing while the Doctor swanned off and came back when the hard part was over.

 

Instead, she was the one who stood utterly useless in the corner, clinging to Rory’s hand and watching the Doctor actually stay still for once in his life. She thought she could do it. She thought she would be River’s still point in all this chaos but how could she? Amy had no memories of pregnancy. River’s birth was nothing but a hazy, drugged-up blur of pain and terror. They hadn’t even allowed her to hold her baby right away. She’d been swept off to be scanned and tested. It was hours before Amy first held her baby girl.

 

She had never felt more inadequate. The Doctor, on the other hand, was kind of amazing. He hadn’t left River’s side since she went into labor. He had been calm and collected as he ushered the Ponds and his wife into the TARDIS and piloted the ship to the Sisters of the Infinite Schism. When River’s water broke halfway to the front desk, he didn’t even hesitate before scooping her into his arms and carrying her the rest of the way. He sat huddled beside her on the bed, letting River grip his hand tight enough to crack bones. Amy had winced in sympathy but the Doctor didn’t even flinch.

 

He had pressed his face into her hair, mouth against her ear, murmuring some sort of encouragement Amy could barely hear through River’s screaming. She heard enough – _that’s it, dear_ and _amazing_ and something else in a musical language Amy couldn’t identify but she knew by River’s smile exactly what it was.

 

She’d listened to them bicker as usual.

 

_(“Stop calling our child Puddle or I swear to God I will strangle you with our wedding bowtie!”_

_“What? It’s brilliant! The littlest Pond is a puddle, Riv – no, you’re right. Silly name.”_

_“Idiot.”)_

 

And now –

 

A tiny wail pierces the sudden quiet.

 

Her grandchild.

 

Amy laughs, letting go of Rory’s hand to wipe at her cheeks. Her husband tries to surreptitiously do the same and she lets him think he’s hiding it from her, far too busy gazing in wonder at the little bundle placed into River’s arms. The Doctor and River Song have seen every wonder the universe has to offer but Amy has never seen them look at anything with the awe in their eyes as they gaze down at their daughter.

 

They did it – together and without any help from old mum and dad huddled and terrified in the corner of the room. Amy leans back into Rory’s chest, fiercely proud.

 

With a wide grin, the Doctor tickles his daughter’s belly and kisses River’s cheek, muttering something like _not her grandfather’s nose, thankfully_. River laughs and elbows him, glancing up at her parents. “Mum, Dad. What are you doing over there?”

 

The Doctor looks up too, tearing his eyes briefly away from his daughter. He makes no attempt to hide his damp cheeks and Amy loves him all the more for it. “Come along, Ponds.” He winks. “Want to hold your namesake, Amy?”

 

She glances at Rory, who shrugs, just as wide-eyed as she. “My – what?”

 

River smiles, dropping her gaze back to her daughter, but Amy doesn’t miss her shy explanation. “We thought we might call her Amelia, if you don’t mind.”

 

She blinks away tears and approaches the bed, holding out shaking hands for her grandchild. The Doctor transfers his daughter from River’s arms to hers with surprising ease and Amy once again has the strangest feeling he isn’t as inexperienced as he likes to pretend he is. She gazes down at her granddaughter – pink and wrinkled and ginger – and sniffles. “She’s perfect.”

 

“Course she is.” The Doctor looks smug. “Like the name, Pond?”

 

Amy nods wordlessly, still enraptured by her granddaughter as Rory approaches, wrapping an arm around her waist and gazing over her shoulder at the newest addition to their strange, wonderful family. “She has your chin,” Rory says, glancing at the Doctor.

 

“Poor thing,” Amy murmurs, smiling.

 

The Doctor scowls but River pats his thigh soothingly and he can’t manage keep his eyes from sparkling when he looks down at her. “Two Amelias on the TARDIS. Poor _universe_.”

 

“On the contrary, my love.” River winks at Amy. “I think it’s just what the universe needs.”


	38. numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Flirting game to see who can get the most numbers at a bar

Adding another napkin to the stack beside her – a phone number scrawled across each one – River leans against the bar and smiles, watching her husband prowl around the room with a scowl. Since they began this little bet of theirs, she hasn’t moved. All she has to do is toss her curls and wait. They always come to her.

 

The Doctor has fared much worse. She lets her gaze wander over him, that floppy brown hair hanging over his forehead, those bright eyes and high cheekbones. He’s adorable. And yet he doesn’t have one napkin. He would if he stopped flailing about and spilling drinks on the women he tried to flirt with. Bless.

 

He’s in the middle of trying to chat up another young girl. She looks vaguely interested and River knows he’s probably promising her all of time and space. Honestly, and he says he never flirts with his companions. The man has no idea the effect he has on those poor girls.

 

He must sense her eyes on him because he glances up and catches her gaze. He darts another look at the girl in front of him and wiggles his brows, smirking as if to say _look who’s about to get a number_. River picks up her stack of napkins and fans herself with it.

 

The smirk drops and he scowls.

 

She tosses her curls and winks, delighted when he stares openly in favor of returning his attention to the young thing in front of him. He never could resist her particular brand of _come hither_. River licks her lips and tugs on a curl in front of her eyes, wrapping it slowly around her finger. The Doctor watches her without even blinking.

 

Fed up with his inattention, the girl beside him turns to see what has him so entranced and her eyes land right on River. She huffs, shoving the Doctor out of the way as she stalks off. He doesn’t seem to notice. River bites her lip and decides she’s had enough of flirting with men who aren’t her husband for one night. And even more tired of seeing him try his abominable flirting methods on other women. Those flailing limbs, hooded eyes, and cocky smirks are hers and she’d prefer to keep it that way.

 

She crooks a finger at him, ready to beckon him over.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

She drops her hand, turning. A middle-aged man in a leather jacket stands beside her, grinning, and she realizes a little too late that the Doctor isn’t the only one susceptible to her charms. The stack of napkins at her elbow is proof enough of that. She forces a smile.

 

“Could I buy you a drink?”

 

“You can buy me two.”

 

His grin widens and he settles onto the barstool next to her, signaling the bartender. River scans the bar while they wait, searching for her husband. He isn’t standing where she saw him last and she frowns, turning her head and craning her neck until she finally spots him at a table by himself, arms crossed over his chest and lips settled in a stubborn pout as he glares at her newest admirer. River stifles a smirk.

 

Bless, she loves it when he’s jealous.

 

It’s his own fault, of course. He was the one who’d insisted he was so bloody irresistible. He was the one who challenged her to a game when she teased him that his irresistibility only seemed to occur when he was promising starry-eyed earth girls the universe and suggested perhaps it wasn’t him but the TARDIS they found so alluring. His face had gone all red and he’d spluttered, shaking a finger in her face. River could never back down from a challenge.

 

Still, looking at him now, pouting and jealous and without even one napkin to show for all of his effort, she feels her resolve turn to mush. She sighs and turns back to the bar as the bartender places two drinks in front of them. She turns to her current companion and pushes the stack of napkins toward him. “Watch these for me, will you?”

 

She picks up both drinks before he can protest and hops from her barstool, making her way through the crowd and toward her pouting husband. He looks up warily as she approaches, straightening from his slouch. “Get another number for your collection?”

 

Stifling a grin at the sullen twist of his lips, River nods. “Best one yet, I think.”

 

“Best?” He scowls. “He was a forty-five year old man in _leather_ , River.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about him.”

 

He watches her sit with a puzzled frown, eyeing the drinks in her hands. “I’m not thirsty.”

 

“These are for me.” She sets them on the table and reaches down her dress, pulling out a neatly folded napkin. He takes it cautiously when she holds it out to him. “Have a look.”

 

With a sigh, he unfolds the napkin and reads the numbers scrawled across it.

 

River waits patiently, sipping her drink.

 

The Doctor frowns. “These are coordinates. To -”

 

“Stormcage,” she finishes, smirking.

 

The Doctor glances up at her with soft eyes, a smile curling the edges of his mouth as he tucks the napkin carefully away into his coat pocket. His hand finds hers and he kisses her knuckles, making her hearts skip a beat as he murmurs, “The only number I need.”


	39. aquaphobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River / water phobia

Considering that River treats her warden like her personal concierge, it should come as no surprise that she tends to treat her husband as a taxi service. It drove him mad when he was younger but not so much any more. Any message from River puts an embarrassing, soppy grin on his face. He just really wishes she would stop jumping off things.

 

He listens to the splash of her hitting the pool with a satisfied nod and pilots them away into the vortex, skipping off down the corridor to meet her by the poolside with a towel. He fetches one of the big fluffy ones, nearly tripping over it as he carries it with him. “What were you running from this time, dear?”

 

When an answer doesn’t come, he glances up with a frown.

 

River isn’t standing by the poolside, dripping water everywhere.

 

He glances wildly around and sees no trail of water leading out of the room. “River? River, where-” He turns with dread to look into the pool and sure enough, she’s there, twisting soundlessly beneath the water, fighting something only she can see. The Doctor drops the towel and leaps into the water.

 

The chlorine burns his eyes so he shuts them and feels around blindly for her, grasping at one of her flailing hands. She struggles, trying to twist away from him, but he yanks her to him and pushes off the bottom of the pool. They both surface gasping. River barely draws a breath before swatting at him, hell-bent on getting away from whoever she thinks he is. Her panicked cries make his hearts twist and his jaw clench, his whole body warring with two impulses – to hold onto his wife and never let go, or to find the ones responsible and burn them into ash.

 

River chokes on a sob, her fist connecting with his jaw, and the decision is made for him. The Doctor hauls her against his chest, his arms trapping her flailing hands between them. He presses his mouth into her ear and says urgently, “Shhh, River, it’s me. It’s the Doctor. You’re safe.” She shakes her head and he presses a fervent kiss to her temple, one hand clutching at her wet curls. “Breathe. I’ve got you, honey.”

 

She stops struggling.

 

“That’s it. Breathe with me. Shhh.” He tightens his arms around her and presses his lips to her forehead, repeating firmly, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

 

When she sags against him with a shuddering breath, her hands clutching at his jacket now to keep him close, the Doctor starts swimming for the ladder, pulling her with him. He helps River out first, clambering up after her and reaching for the towel he’d abandoned. River stands shivering, arms wrapped around her middle, and refuses to look at him. She doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, her expression blank and her eyes empty.

 

She’s young, he realizes as he looks at her. Very young. Probably still in University. As far as he’d known, River never struggled with what happened at Lake Silencio. She never seemed to fear the water, never thought twice before jumping in pools and lakes and oceans. She loved to skinny dip, to soak in long, luxurious baths – especially if he joined her. He had always assumed she just refused to let the past haunt her. But as he looks at her, it’s clear that until now, he just hadn’t found a River who needed his help yet.

 

The Doctor swallows the lump in his throat and reaches out cautiously, wrapping the towel around her shoulders. River doesn’t notice. He sighs, pressing his forehead to hers. “Come on, dear. Let’s get you into something dry, yeah?”

 

Her nod is mechanical but at least she’d heard him.

 

He leads her to their bedroom. It’s a bit too soon for her but he’s under no delusion that River hasn’t any idea they’ll share a room one day. Besides, all of her clothes are here. She says nothing as he helps her undress and that worries him more than anything. She’s in the room they’ll share in her future and her gaze is blank and free of curiosity. He is literally undressing her and she says _nothing_. When it comes to innuendo, River is nothing if not reliable.

 

The Doctor busies himself with gathering soft leggings, a cozy sweater and thick, wooly socks, all but dressing River himself. He squeezes the excess water from her hair with the towel and coaxes her into bed, drawing the blankets up over her. The TARDIS starts a fire in the fireplace and he glances at the ceiling in silent thanks. He smoothes a hand over River’s hair and begins to pull away, hoping she’ll sleep.

 

River latches onto his hand and doesn’t let go. “Stay.”

 

He crouches beside the bed to smile at her, kissing her knuckles. “Try and make me leave, Song.”

 

Squeezing her hand, he lets go and stumbles out of his wet clothes. It’s a testament to just how shaken up River is that she doesn’t even try to watch. He climbs into bed in a dry pair of pants and a t-shirt, careful not to touch River until she rolls over and curls against him. Settling her head in the crook of his shoulder, she lets out a sigh and he feels her tremble. “Imagine being called River and suffering from aquaphobia.”

 

He can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s making an attempt to lighten the mood, to draw his attention away from how utterly she’d fallen apart. He isn’t about to let her distract him. The Doctor wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her damp hair. “You are so brave, River Song.”

 

She gives a tearful snort.

 

He grips her tighter and repeats, “ _So_ brave. Braver than me.”

 

She shakes her head. “You’re the bravest man I know.”

 

“River -”

 

“Have to be to dress like that.”

 

He pauses, mouth open in outrage, and feels her watery chuckle all the way to his hearts. “Minx,” he huffs, and bites her shoulder.

 

River presses her face against his throat, small hands twisting in his t-shirt as if to keep him in place. He traces a hand up and down her spine, counting her breaths and waiting for the tremors to stop. She’ll fall asleep like this, he knows. And when she wakes, she’ll be surly and obstinate and prickly, too embarrassed that he’d seen her so vulnerable to do anything but push him away. But he won’t let her. He’ll be patient where she is irrational and calm when she is a hurricane. He will make certain there is nothing River Song fears, least of all her namesake.


	40. "i'll go first."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'll go first."

He hears voices. The room smells familiar but not in a good way. It smells sterile and clinical and boring. Hospital. What is he doing in a hospital? Confused and unwilling to open his eyes in a strange place, the Doctor stays very still and listens.

 

“He looks so pale.”

 

“He’ll be fine, Amy. The nurses -”

 

“Yeah, I know, but… he almost wasn’t, Rory. It was bad. It was really bad.” The Doctor listens to the rustling sound of Amy undoubtedly shifting closer to Rory. They’re right beside him and he struggles not to open his eyes to peek. “And River – I’ve never seen her like that.”

 

Rory shushes her, kissing her temple. “Can you blame her? All that blood. It was like a one-man war reenactment.”

 

Blood? The Doctor struggles to focus. Wait, hang on –

 

_Taking River and the Ponds to Auros – a surprise invasion – plasma blasts – screams – running. River in the line of fire – blind panic and his hearts leaping into his throat. Jumping in front of her. Pain – so much pain and even more blood – River screaming._

 

The Doctor opens his eyes, gasping.

 

Jumping in fright, Amy and Rory pull out of their embrace, scrambling out of their chairs to lean over him. “Hold still,” Rory scolds, using his _I’m a nurse_ voice. “You’re injured.”

 

“Yeah, I think he knows that, numpty.” Amy nudges him fondly out of the way, her smile wide and tearful. “Hey, Raggedy Man. How’re you feeling?”

 

His stomach aches and his hospital gown is itchy. His head is fuzzy. It’s a bit like when River drugs him with her lipstick except about a million times worse because he hadn’t even gotten a kiss first. He feels absolutely rubbish. It doesn’t even matter. He latches onto the collar of Rory’s shirt. “River. Where -”

 

Rory grips his hand, carefully prying his fingers from his shirt with a frown. “She’s fine. I sent her to get us some coffee. Thought she needed a breather.”

 

The Doctor relaxes, sagging back into his pillows with a sigh of relief.

 

Still smiling, Amy brushes his hair from his forehead. “That was really stupid, you know.”

 

“Yes, it was.”

 

His breath catches and he glances over Amy’s shoulder at the sound of River’s voice, spotting her standing in the doorway. Her mouth is a grim line and she holds two cups of coffee in her hands. The moment their eyes meet, the Doctor wants to groan aloud. She’s angry. Really angry. He swallows. “Hello, dear.”

 

Her expression doesn’t change. “Mum, Dad. Could you give us a moment?”

 

Amy glances between them uneasily, hesitating, but Rory tugs gently at her wrist and she sighs. “Alright but _just_ a moment. We’ll try to find something you’ll eat, yeah?” She kisses the top of the Doctor’s head and steps away, letting Rory lead her from the room. River hands them their coffee as they go, smiling weakly when her parents squeeze her arm and kiss her temple before they leave.

 

The door shuts behind them. River crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the floor. A full minute passes and she still doesn’t speak. The Doctor sighs. “River, I’m tired and my tummy hurts. Could we get the shouting over with please?”

 

Her eyes snap up to meet his and he’s shocked into silence by the wild, unrestrained rage shining in her eyes like fire. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

He frowns. “Well, it’s all a bit fuzzy at the moment, but I think it was something like ‘ _my wife is about to get shot and I should probably do something_.’”

 

“And you thought leaping in front of me was the best option?”

 

He flinches at the sheer volume of her voice. “River -”

 

“I swear to god if you weren’t already in hospital, I’d slap you silly.”

 

“Slap me?” He scowls. “How about a little gratitude, eh? If I hadn’t done it, you would be lying here instead of me!”

 

“So bloody be it then!” River shouts and even as his jaw clenches at her words, he cannot help noticing how lovely she looks when she’s furious with him. “It isn’t your job to protect me!”

 

“But it’s your job to protect me?” Shouting makes his stomach hurt but he ignores the stabbing pain, too frustrated to care. “Why is your life more important than mine?”

 

“It just is!”

 

He growls, baring his teeth. “Maybe it’s not important to you but it is to me! It is to your parents! Bloody hell, River! I want you _safe_. If that means stepping in front of a bullet for you then I will do it every day from here to the end of the universe _without_ _hesitating_.”

 

“Then you’re an idiot! You’re on your last regeneration, Doctor. You can’t just -”

 

“I can and I will.” He folds his arms over his chest and glares at her. “Try and stop me.”

 

River shuts her eyes and breathes out through her nose. She brings a hand to her face and it’s only because he’s paying attention that he notices how badly it trembles. Belatedly remembering Amy’s worry over her daughter – _“I’ve never seen her like that”_ – the Doctor sighs. She isn’t angry, he realizes. She’s terrified. Normally he can tell the difference. He blames the drugs for delaying the realization.

 

“River,” he begins gently.

 

“Don’t.”

 

“Come here.”

 

“No. I’m angry with you.”

 

“No, you’re not.” He manages a weary smile. “Come here.”

 

She doesn’t move, eyeing him stubbornly.

 

He pouts. “I took a bullet for you. Least you could do is sit with me.”

 

“I didn’t ask you to.” She takes a step toward the bed.

 

“Consider it a gift from me to you.” He waggles his brows at her, grinning.

 

To his horror, tears well up in her eyes. Before he can apologize, River is in his arms, fisting at his itchy hospital gown and crashing her mouth against his. The Doctor squeaks in surprise and melts back into his pillows, threading a hand through her hair. His mouth opens against the brutal insistence of her soft lips. His cheeks feel damp and he can taste salt on his tongue. Suddenly nothing aches quite so much as the space between his hearts. When they part, he rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“I thought you were -” River takes a shuddering breath. “You can’t do that to me again, do you understand? You can’t just – _die_. You’re not allowed. In fact, I forbid it.”

 

He strokes his fingers against her cheek, smirking. “Not really something either of us can control, dear.”

 

“Yes, it is,” she snaps. “Promise me.”

 

He huffs. “Promise you what? Not to die?”

 

“No, promise me you’ll let me go first.”

 

His hearts drop into his aching stomach. He feels his smile slip from his face and wonders if he looks as devastated by her words as he feels. She _will_ go first. She already has and no matter how much he wishes he could change things, make her promise just as she is making him now, there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop it. She’ll go first and he’ll be left behind to try to vainly fill the hole she’ll leave behind. River doesn’t seem to notice his torment, still clutching his hospital gown and gazing down at him tearfully. He swallows. “River -”

 

“Promise me, Doctor.”

 

He closes his eyes and nods as she wraps her arms around his neck, curling up on the bed beside him. Turning his face into her hair to hide the tears in his eyes, he exhales shakily. “Yes, dear. I promise.”


	41. crashing river's date

“Check this out.”

 

River stares at her date’s wrist and the shiny new vortex manipulator he’d strapped there, making a half-hearted attempt to look interested. University boys are so dull. Cute but dull. They like to talk about themselves far too much, which wouldn’t be a trial if any of them were actually interesting. Not all that long ago, she didn’t need them to be. Now it’s all she can do not to excuse herself and make a grand escape out of the ladies bathroom window.

 

“The latest version of the market,” her date says with a proud smile. “You wouldn’t believe the price on these babies.”

 

She sips her wine, gives a smile entirely too full of teeth to be genuine, and nods along like she’s listening. Not that her date needs her attention. He’s getting along just fine on his own. She doesn’t bother keeping up the façade of polite interest, glancing around the restaurant with a bored frown, hating herself for wasting another Friday night. 

 

It all feels so pointless she doesn’t know why she even tries. It isn’t as if her future hasn’t already been decided. She thinks of the blank little blue book sitting on her desk back in her dorm room and feels her stomach turn over – in anticipation or dread, she still doesn’t know.

 

The restaurant is one of those places with communal tables with a grill in the middle so they can watch the preparation of their meal right in front of them and she lives in hope that their dinner companions will liven things up but so far, not even a wayward tentacle. 

 

With a sigh, River glances back at her date and finds him still talking about his vortex manipulator. She taps her fingers against the table and considers setting fire to something just to keep from falling asleep.

 

It’s never like this with _him_ , she thinks, and then curses herself for thinking of him at all on a date with someone else. Damn him and his rambling stories and his constant blushing and his bloody ship full of wonders. He has ruined her for normal men. Dull, boring men. Damn it.

 

Scowling, River takes another longer sip of wine and taps her fingers a little faster. Her university days are meant for dating lots of men and aliens and androids – the one with the swappable heads _had_ been rather fun – but all she can think about his some stupid, floppy-haired idiot with –

 

“And then she said ‘what’s the name of his other leg?’”

 

River snaps her head up at the familiar voice as uproarious laughter erupts from the group on the other side of the table. Even her date falls silent at all the noise. Sitting amongst a group of people that certainly hadn’t included him the last time she looked a few moments ago, the Doctor has an arm slung over the back of his neighbors’ chairs, grinning smugly at the amusement of his dining partners. 

 

His eyes, however, are fixed on River.

 

She gapes at him.

 

He winks.

 

“You know him or something?” Her date nudges her, frowning at the Doctor. “He keeps staring at you. I mean, not that I can blame him but -”

 

“He’s no one.” River tears her eyes away from the Doctor to smile at her date. “Excuse me, won’t you? I need to freshen up.”

 

She doesn’t look at the Doctor as she stalks from the table but she can hear him climbing over the other diners, tripping over their chairs and apologizing as he tries to follow her outside. “Sorry, sorry.Oi, no need for that sort of language!”

 

Outside the restaurant is quieter and blessedly free of dull university boys but River refuses to let her relief show as the door opens and the Doctor stumbles out after her, still grinning. 

 

“River!”

 

She glares, watching him deflate. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Having dinner, of course.” He fidgets, offering her a tight smile. “Funny running into you, eh? Of all the restaurants on this little ol’ moon -”

 

River grits her teeth. “You’re crashing my date, you idiot!”

 

He blinks at her innocently. “Am I?”

 

“Yes,” she snarls. “You are.”

 

The Doctor sniffs and tugs at his coat. “Well, you’re welcome.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“You obviously weren’t having much fun with whatshisface.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, scrunching his nose and sticking out his tongue like a toddler faced with a plate full of vegetables. “So you’re welcome.”

 

River forces her jaw to unclench before she grinds her teeth into powder, taking a menacing step forward. “Whether or not I’m having fun is none of your business, you daft old man. I’m on a date.” She jabs a finger at his chest, satisfied when he flinches away from her. “You don’t get to dictate who I spend my time with just because somewhere in my future and your present, we’re boring, monogamous, and shagging!”

 

“Oi!” He scowls, adjusting his bowtie with agitated fingers. “Monogamous and shagging is not boring! It’s actually quite -”

 

Her glare is ferocious enough to make the rest of his tirade die on his lips. “I am not married, Doctor. I’m single. Very, _very_ single.”

 

He flinches again, toeing at the ground with the tip of his shoe, his hair slipping into his eyes as he stares at his feet and pouts. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll just leave you to your date then.”

 

He spits out the word _date_ like a curse and River watches with her arms crossed as he trudges back to his TARDIS, struggling to keep her lips from turning up into a smile at the sight of his reluctant exit. How did such a clumsy, annoying idiot burrow his way into her hearts so utterly thoroughly? She stares after him, biting her lip, and tries to gather the willpower to turn around and go back into the restaurant.

 

The Doctor pauses outside his ship, glancing expectantly over his shoulder as he lifts a hand and snaps his fingers. The TARDIS doors open, spilling warm light out into the night air, and River feels her hearts skip. “Or,” he calls out. “You could come with me. See the universe, save some planets, do a bit of running.” He sniffs. “But I understand if you want to stay here for _dinner_.”

 

She affects an aggravated frown and drops her arms, stalking toward him and his ship without a backward glance at the restaurant and the boring university boy still waiting for her inside. “Fine. But I’m driving.”

 


	42. insecure 12

She’s young – young enough to be wary of this new him as she stands on the other side of the console, peering at him around the time rotor like he might bite her. She doesn’t like his new gruffness, he knows. She probably misses the big chin and the youthful face, the goofy grin that always put her at ease. 

 

This body wasn’t built for putting anyone at ease – it’s for intimidating and keeping everyone at arms length, with his constantly angry eyebrows and tense shoulders and firmly scowling mouth. This body knows nothing of romance. He could learn again. For her he could learn just about anything, including how to make these wiry arms warm and welcoming around her. 

 

But first, he needs to know she wants him to. 

 

“So?” He asks, and she jumps at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide. He makes an attempt to sound a bit gentler, tilting his head with a small, hopeful smile. “What do you think?”

 

Swallowing, eyes fixed on his face, River rounds the console with small, hesitant steps. In moments, she stands before him, looking up at him with a scrutinizing gaze and a mouth that trembles. He has never seen her look quite so lost. 

 

Hearts in his throat, he holds his breath when she reaches out an uncertain hand to touch his face. Her fingertips are soft and curious, tracing over his jaw and his chin – her eyes are bright, like she’s remembering another face altogether. The thought makes his chest tight. She strokes the backs of her knuckles along his cheekbone and brushes a thumb across the lines around his eyes. Her lips quirk faintly when she smoothes a finger over his eyebrow, her expression softening briefly, and he feels his own mouth twitch in return.

 

Her eyes drift to his hair, taking it in blankly – shorter, gray, _old_. 

 

The Doctor swallows, smile fading as he drops his gaze to his shoes, waiting for her to turn away from him. He’ll take her back to Luna, drop her off so she can wait for her Doctor to turn up and –

 

Slowly, like he might try to stop her, River slips her arms around his waist. He tenses out of habit as she crowds in closer, nuzzling her face against his chest like she’s… trying him on. Like he’s a sodding car she’s taking for a test drive. He holds in a sigh, wanting to tell her there are other ways to try this body out, just to see her mouth drop open at the innuendo, but he stands frozen, waiting for her to offer judgment. 

 

She surprises him instead. Apparently satisfied with her assessment, River tucks her head beneath his chin and takes his arms, forcing them to wrap them around her waist. Maneuvering him about like she owns this body just as surely as she had the last one. He hopes she knows she does. 

 

He settles his hands on her hips, swallows again, and tries to relax, feeling his hearts thumping double time in his chest. He catches the scent of her hair and breathes in deeply – honeysuckle and dusty books and cigarette smoke, a bad habit of Mels’ she hasn’t quite kicked yet. She smells so terribly _young_. 

 

The Doctor sets his jaw, tightening his arms around his not-yet wife, and feels her sigh in reply, her smile against his chest full of acceptance. “Hello Sweetie.”

 


	43. through your teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/Doctor + things you said through your teeth

“Don’t.”

 

“But River -”

 

She recoiled from his touch, eyes burning and jaw clenched tight. “Don’t you dare touch me right now.”

 

He swallowed and dropped his hand, eyes sliding away from her. He can’t bear the disappointment in her gaze. It’s a thousand times worse than any hatred he’d faced in Berlin. “OK,” he said around the lump in his throat, taking a step back. “No touching.”

 

“How could you?”

 

He sighed, turning away from her to drag a hand through his hair. “How did you find out?”

 

River very nearly growled but it was far too tearful to sound threatening. It only made him feel like he’d been punched in the stomach. “That is _not_ the right answer, Doctor.”

 

He grimaced. “That’s not what I meant. I just -”

 

“What? Never thought I would know?”

 

The Doctor turned to face her again, watching her slap the file down on the table between them. A grainy black and white photograph slipped out and slid across the table, a bright red stamp emblazoned across it in block lettering **T E R M I N A T E D**. He shied away from the black eyes staring back at him from the photo and struggled not to feel the guilt that was bubbling up in his stomach. Not for what he’d done, never for what he’d done. Only that the knowledge of what he’d done was hurting River. _That_ he would always regret.

 

“I couldn’t let her just walk away,” he explained quietly. “Not after everything she’s done – to you and Rassilon knows who else.”

 

“She should have paid for her crimes, but not like that. Not -” She shook her head, pursing her lips tightly together. “If you had to do something, why not just capture her? Lock her up somewhere?”

 

“And let her plot her escape? Never to be heard from again?” He gestured to her with an angry hand and muttered, “At least not until the next time.”

 

A hand dropped to her stomach and River’s eyes watered as she glared at him. “Don’t you dare use a child that doesn’t even _exist_ yet to justify your bloody homicide!”

 

He breathed in sharply, eyes darting away from her. “Not to you.”

 

“What?”

 

“I said she doesn’t exist yet to you.”

 

River stared at him, eyes wide.

 

“She exists to me, River. She’s not some distant vague future plan – she’s real and beautiful and ours.” He swallowed, lifting his head slowly to peek at her through his fringe. “And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. Not even that.”

 

Dropping both hands to her stomach, River turned away from him and stared at the wall. He couldn’t tell if she was happy about the knowledge or not but he knew in the days to come, when it became a reality for her, nothing could wipe the smile from her face. She kissed him smiling. Slept smiling. Woke up smiling. Both of them were absolutely over the moon stupidly happy. He hoped what he’d done wouldn’t change that, hoped that what happened here wouldn’t forever alter the future he so loved.

 

“River -”

 

“She’s OK?”

 

He stared at the back of her head, puzzled.

 

“Our – the baby,” River clarified, clearing her throat. “She’s -”

 

“Perfect.” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at the thought of her, strapped to her mother’s back on a dig somewhere in ancient Peru. He promised to come back for lunch. “Both of you, River. You’ve already taught her to cry on cue when I forget to leave the brakes off. Oh, blimey. Spoilers. Forget I said that.”

 

She nodded hurriedly and he heard her sniff. “But Kovarian -”

 

“Is gone,” he finished quietly. “And she deserved it.”

 

“Yes.” River turned to face him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes rimmed red. “But not by your hand.”

 

“Whose then? Yours?”

 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I certainly had more of a right than you.”

 

The Doctor ducked his head and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, you’re not,” she scoffed.

 

“I am. I’m sorry I had to do it.” He eyed her warily, still aching to reach out and touch her but she was far too tense at the moment, like a snake preparing to strike. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

 

River stepped a little closer but refused to look at either him or the file on the table. “I’m only hurting because you have more blood on your hands.”

 

He attempted a smile for her sake but it was strained and broken around the edges. “What’s a little more, eh?”

 

She flinched. “Don’t.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“And stop apologizing.”

 

“Sorr – yes, dear.”

 

Closing the remaining distance between them, River took his hand and he finally allowed himself to breathe properly once more. She met his gaze for the first time in far too long, her eyes hard with determination and grief. “Promise me never again.”

 

He hesitated.

 

She squeezed his hand so tight he gasped aloud. “Promise me, Doctor.”

 

There was no refusing her and he nodded faintly, relieved beyond measure when she finally stepped into his arms and wrapped her own around his waist. He gathered her close, burying his face in her hair. He thought of the little girl who would never have to worry about Eye Patch Ladies or monsters lurking in the dark. He thought about River, who would never have to wake up terrified her baby wasn’t safe and snug in her bed. He wasn’t sorry for either of those things.

 

Still, he held River close and let her stroke his hair, whispering, “I promise.”


	44. at the kitchen table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Doctor/River + things you said at the kitchen table

By the time she makes her way to the TARDIS kitchen in one of Bowtie’s shirts and a pair of knickers, the Doctor already has the kettle on. He stands dutifully at the stove, watches her pause at the sight of him and undoubtedly contemplate how rude it would be to turn around and walk out again. She’s still getting used to Bowtie and he doubts the sight of _him_ outside of her dormitory had been a welcome one. He raises his brows at her in challenge.

 

River frowns and pads over to the table, sinking into a chair. “What are you doing up?”

 

He snorts softly. “I know we’re not shagging yet from your perspective but surely you know I rarely sleep.”

 

She bristles like she always does when he talks about their future, like she can’t decide if it’s something she wants or something she wants to run from. She’s young yet, he knows. She’ll make up her mind soon enough. “I didn’t wake you then?”

 

He hesitates. While it was true he hadn’t been sleeping, he had been slowly drifting off in the library, a book open on the desk in front of him. River’s ritualistic nightly screaming had nearly startled him out of his chair. He’d almost forgotten how frequent her nightmares were when she was young but he had never forgotten the routine – chamomile tea at the kitchen table until she was sleepy enough to forget her monsters for a while and fall back into bed, usually tugging him with her.

 

Turning back to the stove as the kettle whistles and makes River flinch, he mutters, “I was already awake.”

 

One glance over his shoulder as he pours the boiling water into mismatched mugs finds River staring at her hands, scowling. “So you -”

 

“Heard?” He clears his throat. “Yes.”

 

River says nothing else and he busies himself with preparing her tea just how she likes it. It’s a soothing ritual after all this time and when he truly thinks about it, despite the unfortunate circumstances, it’s a gift. He never thought he would have this again after the Singing Towers but somehow his wee psychopath found a way to fill his life again, fill the halls of his TARDIS with the sound of her laughter and her screams and the occasional burst of gunfire. He’s old enough now, desperate enough and missing her enough that he’ll take anything she can give him – even her nightmares.

 

Turning from the counter, he carries their mugs to the table and settles them gently, so as not to startle River. She’s always especially fragile after a night like this and any loud noise has the potential to set her off. He has no desire to find himself on the floor with her hands around his throat – at least not like that.

 

The Doctor pushes her mug across the table and River accepts it gratefully, curling her fingers around warm ceramic. He picks up his own mug, sips it cautiously, and eyes her in silence. She always looks so small after an episode, so pale and uncertain, more fragile than she’d ever like him to see her. One day, she’ll learn to hide it from him much better than she does now. Sometimes he thinks there’s nothing he regrets more than that.

 

Though he already knows the answer, he asks anyway. “Want to talk about it?”

 

“Even if I did, I can’t remember.”

 

“Probably for the best.” He sips his tea again, watching her blink rapidly. “River…”

 

“Do they ever go away?” She looks up at him finally, her eyes wide and hopeful. “You know me in the future. We’re – do they ever stop?”

 

Like a coward, the Doctor drops his gaze into his steaming tea and wishes he could give her the answer she wants to hear. “They never stop,” he says gruffly. “But they’re less frequent. You get better at dealing with them.”

 

Better at hiding them because she hated seeing his guilt. Even when it was about her, she made it about him. Selfless to a fault, his River. He’d appreciated it then. He hates it now. And himself.

 

He clears his throat, chest aching. “You’ll be fine. Amazing, even.”

 

She cradles her mug to her chest and doesn’t reply.

 

“And I’ll always be here,” he says, feeling awkward and out of his depth and wanting more than anything to reach out and touch her. He doesn’t even know if she’d want him to. If he were younger, he wouldn’t hesitate but this face, he has no idea what she wants from him. “Well, me or Bowtie. Mostly Bowtie.”

 

Slowly raising her head, River locks her eyes onto his and smiles, as soft as she can manage in her youth, tentative but still a bit feral. “Same thing, sweetie.”

 

Chest tight with relief, the Doctor lays a hand on the table, palm down. River meets him halfway. For the moment, huddled at the kitchen table with the comforting scent of chamomile around them and their fingertips brushing, nightmares have never seemed further away.


	45. when you were drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Doctor/River + things you said when you were drunk

When he realizes he’d missed one, he doubles back on their timeline like he swore he never would and finds River sitting in an upscale bar on an asteroid planet. She’s dressed to the nines in a slinky red dress, hair perfectly coiled around her head like a damned halo. It’s patently obvious just from a glance that she’s drunk out of her mind. Her red lipstick is smudged around her mouth and most of it stains the alarming number of glasses clustered around her on the bar.

 

She doesn’t turn to look as he approaches and that’s troubling all by itself – River always knows when he’s near. Years of training had made it an instinct. He slips onto the barstool beside her and gruffly orders a whiskey from the bartender but River doesn’t even glance up. He sneaks a glimpse out of the corner of his eye and sees her staring into her glass with eyes rimmed red. _Oh River_. The Doctor sighs and massages the sudden ache in his temple with his fingertips.

 

He studies her a moment longer and surmises that she must be out of prison by now and probably even a professor. If she’d still been in prison, she would have gone to some seedy dive bar and gotten into a brawl just to feel something. Only River in her last days would sit here all dressed up for a husband she didn’t believe would really show.

 

With a curt nod to the bartender who slides his drink in front of him, the Doctor clears his throat and asks, “Bad night?”

 

River frowns, downing the rest of her drink. “Yes.” She slams the empty glass on the table and picks up another. “My anniversary.”

 

The Doctor sips his whiskey, mouth twitching at her incredibly transparent hint that she’s taken. “Celebrating by yourself? Must be married to a tosser.”

 

“He’s dead.”

 

He frowns and snaps, “Am not.”

 

River slowly turns to face him, fingers tight around her glass. Her bloodshot eyes narrow at the sight of him, drifting over the dark jacket with the red lining, the new, older face and the gray, shortly cropped hair. She turns back to her drink with a resigned sigh. “You might as well be. I haven’t seen you in _months_. You always turn up for our anniversary but -”

 

His breath catches at the hitch in her voice and he stares at her in silence for a moment, listening to the ice shift in her glass and watching River sniffle and avoid his gaze. She’s uncharacteristically drunk, too drunk to even hide from him. He hasn’t seen this much damage since Manhattan and that was purely by accident. The part of him that will always be a selfish bastard wishes she were sober enough to hide now because seeing her like this is more than he can bear.

 

“How long has it been for you?”

 

“Centuries,” he says, because she won’t remember in the morning.

 

“Well,” she peers at him over her shoulder and attempts a sultry smile that wobbles and falls flat. “You win, sweetie.”

 

“I wouldn’t call this winning.”

 

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” She sips her drink again and he follows suit. “I miss you.”

 

“I’ll turn up again. Always do.”

 

“Tell me you miss me, Doctor.”

 

He scowls at her. “You know I do.”

 

Her fingers tighten around her glass and when she looks at him again, her eyes are welling up. He suddenly feels like he’s suffocating. He doesn’t know what he’d expected when he turned up here tonight but it hadn’t been to find his wife falling apart like this. “I want to hear it. Please.”

 

“I miss you,” he chokes out, turning away. “Every fucking minute of every fucking day. Happy?”

 

“No. Are you?”

 

“Not for a while.” He pushes his glass away and says to the counter. “Not since you.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head and when her shoulders start to shake, he shuts his eyes with a curse. He hadn’t come here to make things worse. He’d come here to make up for an anniversary he’d somehow missed and River is crying and so drunk she doesn’t even care that she is. It’s all a mess and it’s his fault, as usual.

 

“Sod it,” he grumbles, and slides from his barstool. River tries to fight him off drunkenly when he reaches for her but he ignores her and her half-hearted slaps and weak fists, enduring it all because he deserves it. She stills the moment he scoops her up into his arms, clinging to his jacket and pressing her damp cheek into the curve of his neck.

 

She stays that way, docile and trembling, her perfect curls mussed beyond reason and her dress wrinkled, the entire short walk to the TARDIS. Her lipstick is a mess and there’s gin on her breath. It’s the worst anniversary either of them has ever had and yet he still holds her like he’ll never have her close enough. He’s still thankful for every stolen moment.

 

He carries her inside the TARDIS and when the Old Girl shows him a cozy bedroom that isn’t the one they used to share, he sighs in silent gratitude. There are only so many memories he can deal with in one evening. He treks across the plush carpet to the bed and settles River on the mattress, slipping off her heels and tossing them away. He helps her out of her dress but River is so unhelpful it’s a bit like undressing a doll. He throws the slinky number over his shoulder and pulls back the covers, helping his wife maneuver under them before tucking her in.

 

She’s still sniffling, trembling like a leaf. Her eye makeup is smeared and the mighty River Song, the Doctor’s very own heroine in high heels, has never seemed more vulnerable, more terrifyingly fragile. The Doctor swallows the lump in his throat and settles onto the bed beside her.

 

River reaches for his hand and when he laces their fingers tightly together, she tugs until he’s laying right alongside her, his body pressed up against her warm curves. It’s been so long and he’s so starved for her that protesting would just be idiotic. Her other hand trails up his chest and he knows what she’s searching for, what she always searches for when she needs comfort and assurance – the bowtie around his neck. When she doesn’t find it, she presses her forehead into his chest and shudders. “I want my husband.”

 

“Hush now,” he rasps, fishing in his coat pocket. When he produces the bowtie she’d been looking for, River snatches it and clutches the damn thing to her chest, her soft laugh torn from her throat like a sob. “I’m still here. I’m always here.”

 

It’s a lie but River is just drunk enough to believe it.


	46. when you were scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/Eleven + things you said when you were scared

When he’s properly terrified – when a companion is about to do something incredibly brave and stupid, when a planet is on the verge of destruction and he’s trying to coax one last person into his TARDIS, when River has her blaster aimed at one of his hats – the Doctor will babble through the emotion welling up in his throat and his voice will crack. It happens every single time. River just never thought she would hear his voice crack like that over her.

 

She can take care of herself, after all. He tells her so frequently, and anyone else who will listen, always with that proud little grin. A bit of _look what my wife can do_ smugness.

 

Wondering idly where all that faith in her has vanished to now, River tries not to struggle in her bonds and look suitably distressed at her unfortunate circumstances. It is a bit unfortunate, of course – after her captors had bound her hands and feet, they’d gagged her too. She can’t have a proper dramatic monologue now. Not even a saucy retort about the gun pressed to her temple. Pity.

 

Ashen and wide-eyed, the Doctor can’t even look at her. His pleading gaze remains firmly on her captors as he holds up his hands and says, “What do you want?”

 

River scowls at him.

 

“Doctor Song here has disabled the reactor around the planet’s core.” The muzzle of the gun presses a little harder against her temple and River grits her teeth, watching the Doctor flinch. “She refuses to cooperate with us but we had a feeling you’d be more amendable. Unless you’d like to watch your wife’s brains splatter against this wall.”

 

Swallowing, the Doctor glances between the two men on either side of River and she can see him trying to work things out, trying to understand. She hopes somewhere in that ridiculous brain, he’ll realize she has a plan he shouldn’t interfere with. “You want me to reverse the damage and restart the process.” His eyes widened. “You want to destroy an entire planet’s -”

 

“And if you don’t help us do it, you’re going to be a widower, Doctor.”

 

“No, I – please.” The Doctor finally allows himself to look at her and River sees nothing but genuine fear in his eyes. “Let my wife go.”

 

“When you’ve done your job.”

 

The Doctor nods quickly. “Yes, fine. Whatever you want.”

 

River growls at him through the gag.

 

Her captors react to the sound as if she’d pulled a weapon on them, one yanking her hair in his meaty fist and the other raising the gun from her temple only to club her over the head with it. River grits her teeth against a hiss of pain and gasps, doubled over. It takes her a moment to recognize that the roaring in her ears isn’t in her head at all but coming from the Doctor.

 

“Don’t you touch her!”

 

And there it is.

 

That tiny little crack in his voice, such a small sound full of so much panic.

 

He viciously elbows the man holding him back and stumbles, staggering toward River. The gun once again trained at her temple stops him in his tracks. He goes rigid, chest heaving and eyes bright with fury as he stares down the man who’d struck her. This certainly hadn’t been part of the plan and River blinks away the dark spots dancing in front of her eyes, wishing she could tell the Doctor to back down and shut up. But she can’t give the game away and besides, sometimes it’s nice for a girl to hear just how much she means to her fella.

 

When he speaks, the Doctor’s voice is low and dangerous, the tone that begets legends – the Oncoming Storm, the dark warrior who makes armies turn and run. “You dare lay a hand on my wife again and you can forget all about your precious reactor. You won’t need it. I will burn _everything you love_ into ash. That is a promise.”

 

They lead the Doctor and River down into the planet’s core, River still gagged and bound at the wrists. Her captors, noticeably shaken by the Doctor’s display, handle her with much greater care as they guide her down the steps, gun prodding cautiously into the small of her back.

 

As the Doctor approaches the reactor, River stands between her captors and wonders if she’ll have enough time to escape their grasp and nick the Doctor’s sonic to activate the system lockdown once they’re aware she freed her wrists ten minutes ago. She doesn’t have to ponder for long. The Doctor whips his sonic out of his pocket and when he points it at the reactor with a wink in her direction, River sees her opportunity and takes it.

 

They leave two disarmed, unconscious former captors tied up on the doorstep of the planet’s criminal justice building, both of them carrying enough evidence to lock them away for a very long time. They walk away singed, bleeding, but triumphant, holding hands as they stumble back to the TARDIS. It’s only in the safety of the med bay with the Doctor dabbing carefully at the cut on her head that River finally says, “You knew.”

 

The Doctor scoffs, bopping her softly on the nose. “Of course I knew.”

 

“The whole time.” She shakes her head, thinking of that traitorous crack in his voice with a guilty sense of longing. “You’re a better actor than I give you credit for, sweetie.” He pauses in the middle of swabbing the cut with alcohol, not for long, but just long enough for River to notice and frown. “Doctor?”

 

He still doesn’t reply, turning from her to dispose of the bloody cotton swab and reach for the gauze. A glimpse at his face reveals a faint blush on his cheeks and River crosses her arms over her chest, lifting a questioning eyebrow when he finally dares to look at her. “What?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

He fidgets.

 

“Doctor.”

 

He sighs gustily and says to his hands, “I knew you had a plan. You always have a plan.”

 

“But?”

 

He huffs. “When he -” His hand flails in mid-air for a moment, gesturing helplessly to the head wound she sports. “The plan didn’t really matter any more.”

 

Staring at him, River feels her hearts skip a beat and bites her lip to stifle a grin. “So when you said -”

 

The Doctor’s blush deepens and his gaze skips over her, darting anywhere but to her face. “I… may have meant it. A bit.”

 

“Why Doctor,” River allows herself a soft, giddy grin as he finally peeks at her through his boyish fringe. “You _do_ care.”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

“Make me.”

 

His eyes brighten and when he leans in, she realizes he might actually do just that. She holds her breath, eyes intent on her husband as he closes the distance between them. She wets her lips, breath hitching, as he takes her face in his hands and – kisses the wound on top of her head.

 

“There,” he murmurs fondly. “All better.”


	47. when you were crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor/River + things you said when you were crying

It was worth the wait.

 

Standing beside their candlelit table on the veranda, staring out at the Towers shimmering in starlight in the distance, River closes her eyes and listens to them sing. The Doctor kept promising _soon_ but after a few centuries, she’d begun to doubt him. Now that they’re finally here, she’s glad they waited. They’re in sync for once, every single page of their diaries filled with the life they’ve led together. And now they’ve shared one more thing – a magical night of drinks and dancing, reminiscing in candlelight.

 

The Doctor has been wonderfully attentive all evening and though he usually tries his best, he’s always distracted by something or other. Tonight it seems like every bit of his focus has narrowed down to her and her alone. It’s more than a little daunting but River relishes every caress, every moment she can feel him staring at her when he thinks she isn’t paying attention. Centuries of marriage and he still looks at her like a besotted fool. It’s enough to make a girl feel a little smug.

 

She smiles when she senses him behind her, leaning into his chest and watching long fingers slide down her arms to cover her hands at the railing. The Doctor buries his face in her hair and when she feels him breathe in, she smiles. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

 

“Not nearly as beautiful as the sounds you make, Doctor Song,” he says, and she can tell he’s trying to tease her, trying as he always does to get her to blush. He never wins this game. Despite the words, his voice lacks its usual good humor and the joke falls flat.

 

She frowns, no longer seeing the Towers or hearing their sweet, melancholy song. She drops her gaze, watching the Doctor twine his shaking hands through hers. “Sweetie?”

 

“I’m fine,” he says. He sounds anything but fine. “Don’t turn around.”

 

“Alright,” she promises, hearts in her throat. “I won’t.”

 

His nose nudges softly at her curls and she feels his trembling exhale against the back of her neck. Usually, such an intimate gesture would send thrills down her spine but River shudders now for an altogether different reason. Something isn’t right. He breathes her in again, tightens his fingers around her own, and River remembers suddenly the way he’s been staring all night. The thought slams into her like a kick to the stomach. He’s memorizing her.

 

“Doctor -”

 

“I love you.”

 

Her breath catches. “You’ve never -”

 

“I know.” He swallows audibly. “I know I’ve never said it but I always felt it. You’ve always known, River. Haven’t you?”

 

“Of course I have. My love, are you crying?”

 

He holds her fast when she tries to turn around, keeping her pressed against the railing, their hands still linked tightly together. “Don’t turn around,” he repeats, and she can hear it with certainty now – the unmistakable tremor in his voice, the press of hot tears against the back of her neck. Her eyes sting. She feels like she’s going to be sick. “I spent centuries thinking I was alone in the universe and then you came along. This miracle wrapped in a mystery. I didn’t know I needed you but _I did_. I did need you and you were worth the wait, River. You were worth every single minute and I knew you would be. I knew it from the very first -” He shudders and River shakes with him, inexplicably terrified. “Remember that. Remember that it was worth it. It was always worth it.”

 

“Doctor -”

 

“Promise me, River. Otherwise, I can’t bear it.”

 

She nods without hesitating, without a thought for the unease curdling in her stomach. “I promise, sweetie. Always and completely.”

 

His voice cracks. “Thank you.”

 

River stares at the Towers in the distance and knows that he doesn’t just mean for this.


	48. not for us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What could have happened after that kiss in DOTM. River/Twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short fic to celebrate certain spoilers that have popped up recently. ASDFGHJ CAN YOU BELIEVE IT'S HAPPENING OMG.

His mouth moves sweetly, awkwardly against hers. River can feel his arms pin-wheeling at his sides and she smiles into the kiss. He hasn’t figured out where to put his hands yet. Bless. It must be very early days. 

When she pulls away, he’s gaping at her. She frowns. “What’s wrong? You’re acting like we’ve never done that before.”

He scratches his cheek in that adorably awkward manner of his that always means  _my wife is making my trousers very uncomfortable_. She bites back a smirk. “We haven’t.”

And just like that, her stomach drops. The bottom drops out of her world. Everything just… falls away and River is left floating there in the nothingness he leaves behind as he stumbles back toward his TARDIS, oblivious. 

“But it was nice. It was… good. You know what they say. There’s a first time for everything!”

She curls her fingers around the bars of her cell and watches as his ship fades away, refusing to blink against the tears gathering in her eyes or the gentle breeze that always follows his hasty departures. "And a last time.”

“Bollocks to that.”

She jumps, whirling to face her cell, one hand already reaching for the blaster at her side. Her hearts pound in her chest as she scans the dim cage for the source of the voice. She senses the TARDIS before she sees him, cloaked in the corner of her cell. She sighs, dropping her guard. “Doctor?”

He steps out of the shadows and she draws in a breath, staring at him. He’s so much older. Not in appearance, though certainly that too. But she can see it in his eyes. Her sweetie has been through hell and yet he still stands here in the middle of her cell and smirks at her like he has nothing more pressing to attend to. She swallows, taking a tentative step forward.

“Where are we for you?”

He shakes his head. “None of that today.” When he moves toward her, his gait is almost predatory and River feels a shivery little thrill tickle up her spine. Her mouth feels dry. “I’m just here to prove you wrong, my wee darling psychopath.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, forcing herself to play along. Forcing herself to smile and tease and pretend he hadn’t just shattered her hearts only moments ago. There will be plenty of time to dwell on that later, when he isn’t here to see it. “Surely you know by now I am never wrong, my love.”

He’s close enough now that she can see the way his eyes flicker at the endearment but he doesn’t falter. He just keeps moving toward her, backing her into the bars of her cell. One elegant, weathered hand curls around her hip. They’re nose to nose now and his blue eyes bore into hers. He shows none of the boyish hesitance she’s used to and River finds herself without a witty retort on the tip of her tongue, too stunned to speak.

“My firsts are your lasts, was it?”

She swallows heavily, nodding.

The hand that isn’t currently resting possessively at her hip curls around the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. He crashes his mouth roughly against hers and River gasps but arches up into him instinctively. His lips are hard and demanding. He takes from her without asking, like he knows whatever she has is freely given when it comes to him - always. Instead of custard and tea, his kiss tastes of cinnamon mints and coffee with too much sugar. This kiss is everything her last kiss had not been - familiar and aggressive and somehow so very full of love. A lifetime of it.

When he pulls away, his breathing is ragged but his grin is utterly smug. “See? Wrong.”

River stares at him, too dazed to reply. Her lips tingle. There is a warm, simmering heat in her belly that makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but his swollen mouth. “I -”

He doesn’t let her finish. He leans in and kisses her again, swifter this time but no less demanding. River feels dizzy when he pulls away.

“So wrong.”

She scowls.

He darts in again, nipping at her lip. He keeps his mouth pressed against hers and she finally notices how very Scottish this Doctor sounds as he proclaims, “It’s  _embarrassing_  how wrong you were.”

Finally snapping out of her stupor, River laughs. The sound echoes off the prison walls around them, mingling with the steady thump of rain outside. Her world is solid again. Whole. She can feel the ground beneath her feet, the bars of her cell at her back. Everything has fallen back into place and the Doctor grins like he knows, blue eyes crinkling at the corners and steady, tender hands cupping her face. His forehead presses against hers and she latches onto the collar of his velvet coat.

“Alright, sweetie. You win.”

His eyes light up. His new, rather delightful mouth quirks into a little smile at the corners. “Well. I suppose there really is a first time for everything.”

River looks away, staring hopefully over his shoulder. “But not a last?”

His lips brush her forehead and when he sighs, she can smell the coffee on his breath. She smiles. “Not for us.”


	49. if the fates allow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He loosens his tie as he walks, his head down in an effort not to glance at the bloody twinkle lights strung up absolutely everywhere. He’s so determined to ignore his surroundings that he walks right into her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on one of the promotional pictures for the Christmas Special released yesterday.

Reluctantly following the ship’s distress call has led to a chase others might have called merry but the Doctor calls unwelcome – what the buggering hell does a bloke have to do to get a little peace in this universe? He can’t even grieve properly without someone or something needing him and he’s still grumbling to himself about it as he stalks away from the crowded party and out onto the balcony, looking for a bit of air and an excuse to spend a moment alone.

 

He loosens his tie as he walks, his head down in an effort not to glance at the bloody twinkle lights strung up absolutely everywhere. He’s so determined to ignore his surroundings that he walks right into her. Without looking, he reaches out a hand to steady her but he can’t help but notice the woman didn’t stumble – not even in her frankly _fucking ridiculous_ high heels.

 

The woman laughs softly. “Fashion criticism from the man who looks like he’s attending a funeral on Christmas?”

 

The Doctor flinches – both from the words and the voice – and keeps his gaze resolutely on his hand at her hip. How could he have forgotten these hips? Softly curved and luscious, exactly the right size for his palms. He’d loved these hips, dreamed about them, clutched them in passion and in his sleep. He swallows, concentrating with all his might to keep from clutching her to him now. He uncurls his hand instead and drops it back to his side, finally lifting his gaze to her face.

 

She’s watching him with a smile, apparently unaffected by his cranky grumbling, and by Rassilon if he’d forgotten the affect her hips had on him then the beauty of her face has been nothing but a blur in his memory, beloved but not quite right. He had forgotten the way her eyes sparkled, the way her cheeks flushed, the way her curls fell into her eyes even when she pulled her hair up away from her face. She is miraculous, his darling wife, and currently watching him like he might be a few crumpets short of a proper tea.

 

Blinking, the Doctor unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and manages a hoarse, “Hello.”

 

River tilts her head at him and offers back, “You aren’t actually attending a funeral on Christmas are you?”

 

“I – no.”

 

“Oh good.” She smiles and he stares helplessly at the way her eyes crinkle. “I was beginning to wonder. That face -”

 

 

He scowls. “What’s wrong with my face?”

 

“Nothing.” She purses her lips and turns away to face the view over the balcony, clearly hiding a smile at his expense. “It’s a perfectly respectable face. Bit serious, mind you.”

 

“You like it when I’m serious,” he accuses absently, studying the curve of her back in that dress – a deep maroon with sparkling sequins that clings to her waist and makes his fingers itch to, well, _something_. “Or was it when I’m strict?”

 

River glances over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Have we met before?”

 

The Doctor snorts, realizes she isn’t messing about, and stares at her. She doesn’t know him. Of course she doesn’t know him. As far as the records are concerned, the Doctor died in his eleventh regeneration. River has no reason to believe her baby-faced husband ever had another body. Inexplicably, he feels his mouth curve into a grin and coughs, ducking his head to hide it.

 

For once, he knows something she doesn’t.

 

Perhaps this will be a merry Christmas after all.

 

“No, we haven’t met.” He raises his head again and smirks. “But you strike me as the type to swoon at a stern talking to. It’s always the authority figures with women like you.”

 

“Women like me?” River watches him cautiously as he approaches the balcony railing and stands beside her. He bites back a wave of amusement at the tense line of her jaw beneath the shallow interest, the way her fingers tap against her thigh just to make sure the knife is still strapped there. “And what type of woman am I?”

 

Allowing himself a small grin, the Doctor arches his brow at her. “A very bad one.”

 

River blinks in surprise and he’s relieved to see her hand settle back on the balcony. Her familiar smug little grin returns to her face and he tries not to show his glee at seeing it again. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

“I believe I would.” He inclines his head back toward the party still raging inside and doesn’t let himself think about how determined he’d been to mope and get away from every single bit of Christmas cheer only a few moments ago. “Spare a dance for an old man?”

 

Softening, she glances away and murmurs, “I always do.” Brow furrowed, the Doctor leans in closer and River takes a small step back, forcing a smile. Louder, she replies, “I’m waiting for someone.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Probably Bowtie. He’ll come flouncing through the door any moment and spirit her away, oblivious to what he has just stolen away from himself.

 

River nods, staring out at the city below. When she speaks again, he can tell her mind is far away. “I sent him a message but I suppose he isn’t ready. Still determined to be miserable.”

 

“Hard to be miserable in such good company.” The Doctor leans against the balcony railing and doesn’t try to guess where she is in her timeline. The thought of Manhattan crosses his mind but he pushes it away to watch her tap her fingers against the stone. Small, capable fingers that always managed to fit perfectly between his own. He notices the ring right away but he swallows back every question he has, wondering if she wears hers for the same reason he wears his now. “His loss, if you ask me.”

 

“It certainly is.” River glances at him with a small, sad smile. “Yours too, I’m afraid.” To his utter delight, she holds up her hand and the gold band on her finger glitters in the glow of twinkle lights around them. “I’m a married woman.”

 

With a grin, the Doctor waves his hand at her and his ring catches the light. “Me too.” He frowns. “Well, not a married woman. But I could be, I suppose. In the future. Happened to an old friend of mine. Can’t say it’s an improvement but the whole sodding thing is a lottery -”

 

Eyes widening, River wastes no time in wrapping her small hand around his loosened tie. She ignores his startled intake of breath and tugs him into her. Hearts pounding, the Doctor gazes into her smiling eyes and finally settles his itching hands on the familiar curves of her hips. Just before her mouth brushes his, she whispers what he’s waited a thousand years to hear again.

 

“Hello, sweetie.”


	50. will be dear to us once more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She scowls, glancing over her shoulder at her newly acquired shadow. He’d mumbled a name at her earlier but it hadn’t suited and she’s privately taken to calling him Scottish Eyebrows instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fun based on speculation for the Christmas Special:)

Why doesn’t he ever answer his bloody phone? It would be different if she had the time to desecrate a monument or arrange the alignment of this star system’s planets into a message but she’s in a bit of a hurry.  _Call me if you run into trouble, River_ .  _I can always hear you, River_ . She mashes her finger against the End Call button and slips her communicator back into her handbag, cursing her husband under her breath. Rule bloody one, indeed.

 

“Trouble?”

 

She scowls, glancing over her shoulder at her newly acquired shadow. He’d mumbled a name at her earlier but it hadn’t suited and she’s privately taken to calling him Scottish Eyebrows instead. If he doesn’t bugger off soon, she’s going to change it to Scottish Stalker With A Limp. “You again.”

 

He grins, entirely unrepentant. “Me again.”

 

She sighs, turning away. “I’m busy. Sod off.”

 

“Tetchy,” he says, sounding inexplicably delighted. “Still not answering his phone then?”

 

“No,” she snaps, glaring out at the night sky. If she can’t call him and she doesn’t have time to carve any messages into the universe, then perhaps he’ll feel her glare from across the galaxy and come running. He always did hate it when she was angry with him. River thinks fondly of that contrite, puppy dog expression and bites back a smile. It isn’t difficult to do when she senses her gray-haired shadow step closer.

 

“Maybe he’s sleeping.”

 

“He doesn’t sleep.”

 

Well, not without her anyway. He’d once admitted – under the influence of what may or may not have been hallucinogenic lipstick – that he deprived himself so he could sleep when she slept and he still blushes and stammers whenever she brings it up. Bless.

 

Scottish Eyebrows snorts. “He doesn’t sleep? Married to an android?”

 

She finally turns to him with a frown. “I never said I was married at all. I said I was calling for backup.”

 

For a moment, Scottish Eyebrows freezes, his blue eyes darting away from her and back again. He licks his lips. “Your ring.” His gaze drifts to her left hand and River clenches it into a fist, fighting back the urge to follow his stare to the ring on her finger. “It looks old. Well-worn.”

 

River closes her other hand over the ring, concealing it from this stranger’s oddly piercing gaze. As if the ring needs protecting. Honestly, she’s becoming just as sentimental as her old fella. She looks up, catching Scottish Eyebrows looking at her again, and frowns. There is something about this man, something all at once familiar and unsettling. He makes her off balance and has done since he nearly ran headlong into her and then beamed at her like she was water in the desert.

 

Warily, River takes a cautious step forward but Scottish Eyebrows doesn’t move. He stands absolutely still, watching her like not even the rapidly approaching sound of enemy fire could possibly make him look away. She takes another step and another, until she’s as close as she dares, as close as she can be without actually touching him. She reaches out a hand and watches his eyes dilate, hears his breath hitch in his chest.

 

Clearing her throat, she says, “Well, you’re right. I am married.” She drops her gaze to his left hand and gently taps the ring there. Her fingertips brush his and the jolt that races through her like a shiver is alarming. She swallows. “And I don’t think your wife would appreciate you following a strange woman from planet to planet and pestering her like a lovesick puppy.”

 

The reproach only makes him smile again. “My wife is the jealous type,” he admits, inclining his head. “But I think she’d make an exception for you.”

 

“How terribly original,” she says dryly, infuriated when his grin only widens. His eyes are soft and fond and she can’t for the life of her understand _why_. Or why the sight of those blue eyes crinkled in adoration makes her hearts beat just a bit faster. She rubs her thumb over her wedding ring and steels her resolve. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

 

“Actually -”

 

“Professor Song!” One of the members of her team pokes her head out of the ship and taps her communicator. “We’ve got two minutes before they break the barrier.”

 

Realizing belatedly that she’s nearly nose-to-nose with Scottish Eyebrows, River takes a hasty step back and nods once. “And the engine?”

 

“Nearly patched.” The girl beams at her. “We just need your sonic for the final touch.”

 

“On my way.” River casts one last glance at her lovelorn shadow and turns, stalking away. Almost immediately she hears the sound of footsteps behind her and she huffs, whirling around. Scottish Eyebrows nearly barrels right into her, stumbling back a step at her glare. “What are you doing?”

 

He blinks at her, as if it should be obvious why he’s trailing behind her like a lost pup. “I’m coming with you.”

 

“No,” she says, gritting her teeth. “You’re not.”

 

He rocks back on his heels and matches her glower with one of his own. “Am too.”

 

“Why would you come with me?”

 

“Because I can help.”

 

Settling a hand on her hip, River eyes the barricade over his shoulder and watches it tremble. Any moment now… “What makes you think I need your help?”

 

“Because I’m the only one clever enough to keep up with you.” It’s a ridiculous claim made all the more infuriating by his smug expression and River fumes. “You need me.”

 

Behind him, the barrier crackles.

 

River ignores it in favor of poking a finger at his chest. “Let me make one thing clear. I don’t need anyone, Eyebrows.”

 

He chokes. “Eyebrows?!”

 

“And-”

 

The barrier makes another cracking noise and from the ship she hears her team member call out a panicked, “Professor!”

 

She growls and tosses her sonic at them without looking, still glaring at the stranger who has done nothing but take liberties since the moment they met. “And the only man clever enough to help me is probably swanning about the universe with a leggy blonde.”

 

She leaves him with an outraged expression on his face and turns on her heel, stalking back toward the ship. After a moment, she hears him stumbling after her but she doesn’t have time to turn around and punch him before the barrier gives one last shudder and shatters completely. With a hiss of annoyance, River whirls and throws herself at her shadow, tackling him. They hit the pavement hard and River covers him with her body as an explosion rocks the ground.

 

Behind her, she hears the ship that was supposed to carry her away leave without her and she breathes a sigh of relief, grateful that at least someone on her team hadn’t been stupid enough to wait around for her. It’ll hardly be the first time she’s been left stranded. She has her communicator. She’ll find a way off-planet and track them.

 

But first, she has to get herself and her idiot shadow out of the line of fire. Coughing, she peers at him through the smoke and stumbles to her feet, yanking him with her. His fingers lace through hers without thought and he shouts at her over the noise, “My ship is around the corner!”

 

It’s a stupid idea to follow her stalker back to his lair but well, River isn’t exactly swimming in available escape routes and it isn’t as though she can’t take care of herself. She’d been raised to kill a Time Lord. One old man with a crush isn’t exactly a threat. She clutches his hand in hers and follows him.

 

They dash through a smoke-filled, narrow alley and around the corner. His pace matches hers step for step and if she weren’t a little busy running for her life, she might have found that suspicious. Over the sound of another explosion and the rapid gunfire of the enemy on their heels, River hears the unmistakable snap of fingers. She looks up. Through the debris and the smoke, it’s impossible to make out anything at all, especially not his ship, but something tugs at her memory. Warm light spills out from the open door of the ship and they stumble over the threshold just as a bullet soars over her shoulder, barely missing her.

 

They tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs and River lands on top of him, straddling his thighs. Panting hard, he stares up at her, gripping her hips. River tips her head down to meet his heavy gaze and there is something altogether too familiar about it all. Her mind latches onto a memory and won’t let go – jumping out of a spaceship before the Doctor had learned to use the pool to catch her. She’d landed right on top of him and he’d looked up at her with equal parts terror and desire. She swallows, staring into her shadow’s blue eyes, seeing none of the terror but every bit of that old desire. Without even looking around her, she suddenly knows exactly where she is.

 

Around her, a gentle, welcoming hum only confirms it.

 

The lump in her throat makes it nearly impossible to speak but she manages a quiet, “You.”

 

The Doctor grins, one hand leaving her hip to reach up and gently cup her face. His thumb sweeps over her cheekbone and he confirms, “Me.”


	51. i keep the ends out for the ties that bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her daughter bites her lip, flushed pink as she holds her unbuttoned blouse closed with one hand, nudging away the man who had been nibbling rather adamantly at her throat a moment ago and who looks very displeased not to be doing so now. Wiping delicately at her mouth, River clears her throat. “Oh, dear. This is terribly awkward, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested Eleven walking in on Twelve and River a while back and I'm finally posting it:)

“See Ponds? I told you I would find it!”

 

The Doctor stands at the top of the mountain – the fifth mountain they’ve climbed only to find _nothing_ once they reached the top, Amy thinks savagely. Panting, she pulls Rory up the last few steps with her and sighs at the Doctor’s triumphant, beaming face. She peers over his shoulder and when she sees the TARDIS at the bottom of the slope, she manages a breathless grin and slaps him on the back.

 

“Good job, Raggedy Man.”

 

“And it only took three hours,” Rory grumbles, bent over with his hands on his knees.

 

“I know,” the Doctor says, oblivious and gleeful as he begins to scramble precariously down the slope toward his ship. “Last time it took me a week but I think your thieving daughter had something to do with that.”

 

“Oi, when she’s misbehaving she’s _your_ wife.” Amy clings to Rory’s arm as they climb down, stumbling a bit with every step. She’d dressed for a night in Vegas. Not a trek through the mountains of Machu Picchu.

 

“When is she _not_ misbehaving?”

 

Amy smiles at the fond exasperation in his voice. “Exactly.”

 

Reaching the bottom first, the Doctor huffs. “Come along, Ponds. We’ll have a wash and go for lobster bisque on Maine.”

 

“I dunno,” Rory says, eyeing the slime still clinging to his sleeve. “I think I’m getting used to the smell. Hang on, did you say on Maine? Don’t you mean in?”

 

“No, of course not.” The Doctor scoffs. “On Maine. The planet. Best lobster this side of the galaxy. Well, when I say lobster…”

 

Rory sighs.

 

The Doctor waves his arms impatiently as he waits for them to join him at the bottom, looking a bit like he’s trying to land a plane. Amy snorts and he turns on his heel, bounding ahead of them to greet his TARDIS with a soft, “Hello, dear.”

 

Amy follows behind him with Rory as the Doctor pushes open the door. “Finally,” she grumbles. “Home sweet -”

 

“River!”

 

The Doctor’s scandalized, high-pitched gasp makes Amy’s heart skip a beat but as she rushes forward and nearly collides with his back, she tells herself her daughter has probably just been caught desecrating another hat or – She peers over the Doctor’s shoulder and promptly stops thinking. Half-dressed and pinned to the console by a gray-haired stranger, River looks like she’s about to desecrate something altogether different.

 

Amy gapes, vaguely registering Rory’s startled choking behind her. Helplessly, she asks, “River?”

 

Her daughter bites her lip, flushed pink as she holds her unbuttoned blouse closed with one hand, nudging away the man who had been nibbling rather adamantly at her throat a moment ago and who looks very displeased not to be doing so now. Wiping delicately at her mouth, River clears her throat. “Oh, dear. This is terribly awkward, isn’t it?”

 

The man beside her snorts.

 

Amy clenches her teeth and flexes her fists, deciding this bloke could use a good decking. Who does he think he is, standing here in the Doctor’s home, necking with his wife, slouching against the console like he bloody well has rights to both ship and wife? She glares at him, not that he seems to notice. He’s too busy watching River.

 

“Awkward?” The Doctor repeats blankly, standing frozen in the doorway and staring. Amy purses her lips in sympathy and reaches out, pressing a steadying hand on his arm. The Doctor’s voice grows stronger and Amy watches in dismay as his eyes narrow and a muscle in his cheek jumps when he clenches his jaw. “I walk in on you in our TARDIS with granddad here -” The gray-haired man scowls at this. “And all you’ve got to say is _oh dear, how awkward_?”

 

River flinches at the cold fury in his voice but her eyes remain soft and amused as she takes a step forward. “Sweetie -”

 

“Don’t you dare,” the Doctor snaps. “Don’t you dare _sweetie_ me, not about this River.” He turns his gaze on the man behind her and Amy doesn’t understand how he withstands it, how he doesn’t wilt under the sheer venom in the Doctor’s eyes. “And you can get the bloody hell off my ship before I decide on a very unpleasant drop off for you.”

 

The gray-haired older man actually has the gall to smirk and Amy feels the Doctor quiver with rage beneath her quelling hand. “Are you quite through being a jealous idiot?”

 

Startled by the humor in his gruff Scottish voice, Amy blinks at him and faintly registers the Doctor growling under his breath. River stands between them like she can’t decide who to go to and Amy stares at her, wounded on the Doctor’s behalf. How young is she right now? She can’t possibly be the Doctor’s wife yet, can she? She wouldn’t do this. She knows River and she loves the Doctor, loves him just as much as Amy loves Rory, with a fierceness that surpasses even her Roman Centurion father. She wouldn’t. But she is.

 

The Scottish man sighs. “Christ, you’re hard work young.” He glances at River, his eyes softening with wonder. “How did you do it?”

 

“Not helping, my love,” River murmurs, and her eyes widen when the Doctor visibly recoils, staring at her in gaping silence. “Oh honey -”

 

He backs away from her and bumps into Amy, who stumbles into Rory. He steadies her and Amy reaches blindly behind her for his hand, grasping it tightly in her own. The Doctor swallows. “River, who is this? Tell me right now or -”

 

“Look around, numpty,” the Scot says with a patient sigh. “Pay attention. Where are you?”

 

“My TARDIS,” the Doctor snaps, and then he stops, his eyes growing wide. It’s only when Amy follows his gaze that she realizes how different the interior looks. It’s darker and sleeker, less clutter on the console. There are bookshelves and armchairs and it looks absolutely nothing like the warm, orange glow of the TARDIS they had left only hours ago. “Oh.”

 

The other man raises heavy brows at the Doctor and says mockingly, “Yes. Oh.”

 

“But…” The Doctor scowls and glance at River. “He’s _old_!”

 

River gapes and the man behind her splutters.

 

The Doctor looks sulky, muttering under his breath and to his shoes, “And not me.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” River hisses, somehow still managing to look inexplicably fond. “And if anyone has a right to be tetchy right now, it’s me.”

 

Glancing up, the Doctor peers at her resentfully through his fringe. “Oh?”

 

River throws up her hands. “You thought I was cheating on you! _In the TARDIS_.”

 

Amy watches as the Doctor deflates, turning contrite eyes to River, who still watches him with a ferocious glare. The moment he holds out a hand, she softens and steps forward to take it, letting him draw her in. Bewildered, Amy stares as the Doctor gathers River into his arms and buries his face in her curls. “I’m sorry, dear,” she hears him whisper. “I just – you know.”

 

“No, I don’t know! How could you possibly think -” Amy frowns at the hurt in her daughter’s voice, watching her lean back briefly to smack his chest, her glare something to behold. “And then to have the audacity to not be appeased when you discover you’re wrong! You’re an _idiot_.”

 

“I know,” the Doctor says miserably. “But -”

 

Still leaning against the console and watching them, the Scottish man interjects with grudging pity, “Rather difficult to think clearly when one’s wife is in flagrante delicto with another face, my dear.”

 

The Doctor tightens his grip around River, nodding. “I just… you were – and he -” He sighs, curling further into his wife. “Can you blame me?”

 

River pulls away with a soft smile, cupping his face tenderly in her hands. “I suppose not. I’ve certainly shot women for less in my younger days.”

 

“I remember,” the Doctor says with a grin, turning his head to kiss her palm. “Forgiven?”

 

She pats his cheek, winking. “Always and completely.”

 

“Sorry,” Amy finally interrupts, brow furrowed as she steps forward. “But what’s going on? Why are you apologizing, Doctor? Explain.”

 

“Clever Amelia Pond can’t figure it out?”

 

She turns her eyes to the Scottish stranger tutting at her and finds him staring back almost fondly. She watches his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth turn up in a wry smirk and she has no idea why but there’s something about him… Her breath catches just as Rory asks, “Doctor?”

 

The gray-haired man smiles at them, waggling his fingers. “Hello Ponds,” he says, managing to sound delighted and pained all at once. “You look older than I remember.”

 

Amy frowns. “You too, Raggedy Man.”

 

His blue eyes light up at the nickname, like he hasn’t heard it in a very long time. “New face, actually. Like it?”

 

She shrugs. “Could be worse.”

 

He scowls.

 

Amy laughs, finally relinquishing Rory’s hand to cross the control room and open her arms. The Doctor scrambles back, hands held up in front of him and a grimace on his face. “No hugging,” he says, sounding a bit panicked. “I’m against hugging this go round.”

 

Amy settles a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t hug? Seriously? Do I really need to describe what I just saw you doing with my daughter?”

 

The Doctor frowns. “That’s different. She’s my wife.”

 

“And I’m still your mother-in-law,” she says, shoving aside his arms to wrap her own around him. “Now get to hugging, yeah?”

 

He sighs, his chin settling atop her head and his arms wrapping somewhat cautiously around her back. “Yes, Pond.”

 

She smiles against his chest, trying not to notice that he feels even lankier now or that he no longer smells of tweed. He still sniffs her hair and she bites back a giggle, reassured that he is indeed her silly Doctor underneath.

 

“Um, not to put a damper on the reunion or anything,” Rory interrupts, and Amy pulls away from the Doctor to find her husband glancing between the two versions warily. “But should you really be in the same room as yourself? Is something about to explode?”

 

With the bowtie-wearing Doctor still clinging rather possessively to River and shooting his other self wary glances, his Scottish counterpart shrugs and says, “Should be fine, as long as I don’t touch myself.” He straightens, shooting a glare across the room. “Shut it, wife.”

 

Amy bites her lip against a grin.

 

“I didn’t say anything.” River turns to face him with a smirk, her hand still clutched in the Doctor’s. Amy frowns. Their Doctor’s. The young one.

 

“You were thinking it,” the older Doctor says, waggling his brows.

 

Amy valiantly resists the urge to point out how much they’ve grown.

 

Lips curling with mischief, River says, “Sweetie, there are two of you. I’m thinking all sorts of things.”

 

“All of them sordid, I’m sure,” he snorts.

 

Amy’s Doctor grumbles in petty annoyance, looking like he’d very much prefer to wrap himself around his wife and possibly tattoo _MINE_ on her forehead. Amy rolls her eyes.

 

River chuckles, kissing his knuckles with a softly murmured, “Bless.” The Doctor huffs at her and she lets go of his hand, the tips of her fingers lingering briefly against his. Glancing between the two Doctors studiously avoiding one another, River pastes on a smile. “Well, I’ll go change for Venice. Try to land in the right era this time, my love. I don’t want to spend another afternoon hiding from Casanova.” She brushes Amy’s arm and winks at Rory as she passes by. “Lovely to see you, Mum and Dad. I’ll pop round for dinner soon, yeah?”

 

With that, River disappears down a corridor and no matter how hard Amy glares after her, she doesn’t come back. A heavy, strained silence hangs in the air as both Doctors glare at their shoes and refuse to acknowledge one another. Closest to the gray-haired Scottish man, Amy nudges him sharply with her elbow and he starts, turning to glower fiercely at her. She stares right back, arms crossed and face expectant.

 

His shoulders droop a little and he’s just about to be the bigger man and speak first when Amy’s Doctor raises his head and looks at his future self. “River. She’s still…”

 

The older Doctor stiffens and Amy stares in confusion at the tension in his jaw. “No.”

 

“Oh.” The younger Doctor’s gaze skitters away and then back again hopefully. “But -”

 

“She’s young.”

 

“Right.”

 

The Doctor swallows, wearing that kicked puppy expression that always makes Amy want to ruffle his hair and wrap him in blankets. She takes a tentative step forward, feeling bewildered and like she’s missing something, that half of their conversation isn’t even taking place aloud. “Doctor?”

 

He looks up at her and forces a wide grin, tugging at his coat. “We should go, Ponds – before something explodes.”

 

Rory frowns. “But you said -”

 

“I lied.”

 

“Of course you did.”

 

“The TARDIS isn’t far,” the older Doctor says, eyeing them a bit like he would usher them out himself if it wouldn’t be terribly rude of him. He looks like he’s contemplating it anyway. “The next mountain, I believe.”

 

Rory groans.

 

Smiling, Amy nudges the older Doctor beside her gently as his younger self and Rory begin to file toward the door. “Look after you.”

 

He nods curtly, a smile tugging at his mouth once more. “Goodbye, Amy.”

 

She slips out the door past the Doctor to join Rory but not before she sees her Raggedy Doctor glance back at his future, apparently reluctantly resigned to sharing his wife with himself. “Take her somewhere amazing.”

 

His other self wears a thin, weary smile. “You will.”

 

The trek to the ( _right_ ) TARDIS is a quiet one. The Doctor doesn’t say anything, his hands in his pockets and his eyes far away. Only minutes ago, he’d been scrambling gleefully up and down mountains, gently mocking their inferior biology for not being able to keep up. It’s a drastic change and Amy eyes him worriedly, knowing whatever it is, it has something to do with the Doctor’s brief, pained exchange with his older self. That silent conversation the rest of them had not been privy to.

 

Walking on one side of her best friend while Rory walks on the other, Amy exchanges a worried glance at her husband over the Doctor’s shoulder. Rory shrugs at her helplessly and Amy sighs. Or maybe he’s still sulking about having to share River. Idiot. Well then, she thinks, nothing else for it but to dive in.

 

Linking her arm through the Doctor’s, she leans into his side and grins up at him until he finally stops staring into space and looks at her warily. “So Doctor,” she begins mischievously, relieved to see his eyes lightening already. She waggles her eyebrows playfully at him and says, “About that future accent of yours…”

 

The Doctor flushes. “Oi, lots of people are Scottish! I’m sure it had nothing to do with you, Amelia Pond.”

 

Rory snorts.

 

Amy beams up at the Doctor. “You love me. I’m your favorite.”

 

“I do not have favorites!” The Doctor protests, growing redder by the moment and apparently forgetting all about his sudden need to brood. “I love all of my companions equally!”

 

“You’re a mummy’s boy.” Rory wrinkles his nose. “Mummy-in-law. Bit weird, mate.”

 

“Oh,” the Doctor grouses, flailing just enough to make Amy hide a smile of accomplishment. “Shut up, Ponds.”


	52. and we could be enough, that would be enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once she finally recognizes him and they’ve rid themselves of her other (less handsome, less Scottish, less clever, just less) husband the Doctor is ready to have his wife all to himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Moffat quote released in the Radio Times interview: “The man she loves and who she’s never quite sure if he loves her back.” Because ouch.
> 
> Story title from That Would Be Enough from the Broadway musical Hamilton.

Once she finally recognizes him and they’ve rid themselves of her other (less handsome, less Scottish, less clever, just  _less_ ) husband the Doctor is ready to have his wife all to himself again. This body doesn’t have the gleeful, manic enthusiasm of his last but he’s very nearly giddy as he pilots his ship away with River at the controls beside him. Once they’re in the vortex, he turns to her and says, “Get changed and prepare to be amazed.”

 

Her hands find his waist, slipping beneath his coat, and he does his best not to squirm. He _wants_ very much but he’s still getting used to being so close to someone again – even if it is River. “No offense, honey,” she says, her lips lingering beneath his jaw and making him shudder, “But I’d much rather be undressed and amazed.”

 

“You’ll change your mind when we get there,” he says, and uses every sodding bit of willpower he has to gently usher her away toward the wardrobe. “Dress to impress, wife.”

 

She lingers in the doorway to gaze at him with that look in her eyes he’d missed all night when she’d been flirting with literally everyone else but him. It feels good to have that gaze all to himself again. “I always do. Any preferences?”

 

Inputting coordinates, the Doctor pauses and smirks. “Something red.”

 

“Kinky,” she murmurs, and disappears down the corridor.

 

She only understands the request when he opens the doors of his ship onto his home planet half an hour later, laughing when he glances at her and says, “Technically you’re First Lady. You needed to dress the part.”

 

“You found it,” she whispers, breathless as she squeezes his hand.

 

She doesn’t let go when she moves forward, towing him behind her as she makes her way to the edge of the balcony and stares out at the red, barren landscape surrounding the Capitol. The Doctor has no interest in their surroundings. It may have taken him a long time to find his home planet again but his true home has finally returned to him and she’s a damn sight more welcome than dusty Gallifrey.

 

“Your family -”

 

“I haven’t looked for them,” he says quickly, clearing his throat.

 

“Will you?”

 

He’s been too terrified to venture into the city and search them out, at least not on his own, but… “Will you come with me?”

 

She smiles, still gazing around her. “Of course I will, my love.” She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the red desert and he’s quietly looking forward to tugging her from the balcony and showing her the city, showing her the silver trees he’d told her about, the fields where he had played as a boy, the home where he had raised his children. All of that awaits them and he never thought he would get the chance to share it with her.

 

“Thank you,” she says softly, as if reading his mind. “For bringing me here. Sharing this with me. It’s…”

 

She shakes her head, swallowing thickly, and the Doctor frowns. “Of course I wanted to share it with you – you’re my wife, River. Who else would I want beside me when I came back here if not the woman I love?” River turns quickly to stare at him, finally giving him her full attention. “Besides, you’re the only one who could truly appreciate it and technically, they’re your people too. Granted, they’re a bunch of stuffy arseholes but it’s still nice to have-” He finally realizes she’s gaping at him and stops talking. “What?”

 

Blinking, River snaps her mouth shut and darts a quick glance away from him. “Nothing.”

 

He scowls. “River -”

 

“You’ve never said it before,” she blurts, staring fixedly at her hands, white-knuckled around the balcony railing.

 

“Said…” He takes a moment to go back over exactly what he’d said and when he lands upon what she must be talking about, everything in him seizes up with horror. He huffs to cover it up, scowling. “Of course I have!”

 

River shakes her head, pursing her lips. “You haven’t. Never.”

 

The Doctor stares at her profile in the light of Gallifrey’s suns and feels a horrible, nauseating pit open up in the bottom of his stomach like some great gaping black hole. He licks his lips and forces out, “All right, perhaps I never actually said it but for Christ’s sake River, you knew -” He pauses, watching her barely perceptible flinch. The pit in his stomach yawns wide, threatening to turn him inside out and swallow him. “River? You knew, didn’t you?”

 

Keeping her gaze resolutely fixed on the Gallifreyan horizon, River forces a small smile. “I’d certainly hoped.”

 

“Hoped,” he repeats numbly, and feels the black hole in his stomach begin to pull him in. He laughs dryly, startling River into glancing at him. “I’m a rubbish husband.”

 

Her eyes flare with indignation, which just makes him feel worse. He doesn’t deserve her fierce devotion, now more than ever. “You’re not -”

 

“My wife hoped I loved her, River,” he snaps. “Fucking – _hoped_. All this time and I thought you bloody well knew -” He thinks fleetingly of _if you ever loved me_ and feels like he’s going to be sick. He grits his teeth against the bile rising in his throat, clenching his jaw until it aches.

 

And River only stands steadily at his side, moving closer to stroke her soft fingers over his cheek until he stops grinding his teeth together. She looks at him like it doesn’t matter, like she’d have been happy to go on loving him with that uncertainty in her hearts. Like it would have been enough.

 

“I didn’t deserve you.”

 

“Still don’t,” she murmurs. “But I think I’ll keep you just the same, sweetie.”

 

He feels a reluctant smile curling his mouth and turns his head to hide it, kissing her palm. Now that he’s paying attention, the words are harder to force out but River gives her tender words so freely and it’s time he started trying to catch up. He clears his throat and offers a gruff, self-conscious, “Love you.”

 

River’s answering grin is radiant enough to rival the gleaming citadel shining in the suns. “I know.”


	53. if it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn’t notice right away. Through university, she’d been far too busy with her studies and dating and sometimes running with the Doctor to notice something as trivial as the number of pages in her diary. Except it isn’t trivial. It isn’t trivial at all. It’s quite possibly the most important detail of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this dialogue from the Christmas Special: 
> 
> http://mygalfriday.tumblr.com/post/134857892729/blencathra-river-my-diary-one-should-always
> 
> Story title from Hamilton.

_Why would a diary be sad?_

 

She doesn’t notice right away. Through university, she’d been far too busy with her studies and dating and sometimes running with the Doctor to notice something as trivial as the number of pages in her diary. Except it isn’t trivial. It isn’t trivial at all. It’s quite possibly the most important detail of her life.

 

“It’s a diary?”

 

She grips the book in her hands and offers her new husband a coy look, amused by the stern pout on his young face. “River, you and I, it’s all in the wrong order. You put everything in the diary so we know where we are.”

 

It isn’t until she disappears to change into the wardrobe that she understands the ramifications of what she has just learned. The Doctor – the man who has seen her future and knows every last thing about her – has given her a diary to record the events of their time-tangled relationship. Surely he would know just how big that diary needed to be.

 

Standing motionless and numb in the middle of the wardrobe, River thumbs carefully through the blank book. When she reaches the front, where she’d squandered the first several pages with doodles and lecture notes, she wants to scream. It doesn’t feel like only pages. It feels like whole days of her life wasted, frittered away like a child’s coinpurse in a candy store.

 

When she walks back out into the control room with an armful of dresses, resentment simmers just under her skin and she knows it isn’t River – not his River – that prods where it must hurt the most. “You and your secrets. You’ll be the death of me.”

 

His frozen smile stays with her even as she slips away. She’d said it to hurt him but more than anything, it’s a reminder to herself. Her pages – and her days – are numbered. She will make the most of them. She grips the binding of her diary as she moves toward the doors of the TARDIS, the Doctor following sedately behind her, and takes comfort in the thickness of the book. She still has a lot of running to do.

 

-

 

At first she tries to cheat, writing in tiny, cramped handwriting and tucking loose leaflets into the pages, leaving out details to make room for other days. It isn’t long before she can’t bear to leave out a thing – not the way his hand feels warm and sure at the small of her back when they dance, or that delighted giggle when she’s done something unexpected and clever, not the way he clings to her when they make love, not that day on the beach when he’d gotten a sunburn on his nose and pouted until she bought him ice cream and licked it off his face. Every single moment – even loud rows in restaurants and supermarkets and one time in the middle of a petting zoo – is so, so precious. She doesn’t want to forget it.

 

She writes down everything – every visit, every gift, every argument, every time he makes her laugh and every time he makes her cry. She writes down every anniversary and birthday and Christmas, every vow renewal and honeymoon. She pastes pictures and love letters and dead flowers between the pages until their entire lives are contained between the space of one blue cover and the next.

 

Slowly, the book grows more difficult to carry on her person. It’s heavy and filled to the brim, bursting with her life and her love, every page water-logged and well-worn. River is the narrative, the author and the controller of her own destiny. She fills in the pages of her life with gusto and has no fear of the future. She writes in curling script, she takes up space, and she doesn’t leave out a. single. thing.

 

-

 

River doesn’t cry at Darillium.

 

That resentment she’d felt when she was so young and so new had faded a long time ago. She has grown old and happy and far too grateful for every moment to ever waste a second feeling bitter. Now, as the Doctor buries his face in her hair to hide his tears, she feels peace in her hearts. She wants to tell him that it’s alright, that she’s always known, that she’s ready. But she can’t because she already told him, in his future, before she ever knew it was him. He’d been gray-haired and Scottish and he’d looked at her like she was some Christmas-induced sugarplum dream he was too afraid to reach out and touch.

 

Right now, he’s clutching her to him and trying so hard to be brave and strong but River knows his future. She knows about dark days on a cloud and a wedding ring worn as a silent promise to never love again. She also knows that a thousand years and another body from now, he’ll be so starved for her that he’ll gaze at her with gratitude and adoration, and he’ll readily open his hearts again. But right now, he’s angry and grieving and he needs to say goodbye. She lets him.

 

Stroking her fingers through his floppy hair, she allows him to believe he is hiding the tears from her, that she doesn’t feel them dripping hot onto her skin. “Listen to the Towers,” she whispers, and feels his breath hitch beneath the palm she holds at his back. “Aren’t they beautiful, my love?”

 

He shakes his head and mumbles something like _not ready_ into her throat.

 

River turns her head to press her lips against his temple and wonders at the irony of being more prepared for her death than the man who had always known it would come to this. She shushes him softly and shuts her dry eyes, the peace in her hearts more soothing than even the melody in the air around them.

 

There is only one page left.

 

-

 

The moment comes that she has been waiting for since she thumbed through those blank diary pages on her wedding night but the only thing she is afraid of is erasing all of the words between the pages of that beautiful blue book.

 

River is the narrative, the author, and she decides how it ends.

 

On the last page, she leaves a note in curling script, making certain to take up every last inch of space, the last moment left of her long, magnificent life. She thinks of her grieving young Doctor and the elated old man and when a soft smile curls her mouth, she knows there is only one thing left to say.

 

_It was worth it._


	54. best of wives and best of women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d suspected, deep down, that wherever the Doctor was in his timeline, it had been a very long time since he had seen her but he proves it when they make love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title from Hamilton. Again. Don't judge me.

She’d suspected, deep down, that wherever the Doctor was in his timeline, it had been a very long time since he had seen her but he proves it when they make love, his hands gripping her tight enough to leave bruises but still managing to wander endlessly, like an explorer marveling at new terrain. His constantly damp eyes never stop roving over her face and he keeps his jaw clenched like if he relaxes for even a moment, a verbal fountain will come pouring out and he’ll never manage to stopper it.

 

River soothes where he trembles, surges forward where he hesitates, smiles where his breath catches. For once, their roles are reversed and he is the hurricane she must tame, the desperate creature she must channel into a focused purpose. She lets him exhaust himself in her and takes great delight in learning all the right ways to make his new body shudder and fall apart. When they’re both finally sated, the sheets are hanging off the bed, her knickers are dangling over a lampshade, and her body aches in unimaginable places and ways.

 

Draped over his heaving chest and grinning breathlessly up at the ceiling, River stretches her sore muscles languorously and points her toes, curling them against the mattress. She turns her head and kisses the Doctor’s collarbone, barely managing to suppress a purr when he strokes his palm across her shoulder blades.

 

“Well?” His Scottish accent is a scratchy slur at the moment and River stifles a proud grin. “What’s the verdict?”

 

“Hmm,” she hums, chuckling quietly at her own hoarse voice. “I think you’ll do very nicely. Very clever hands, no blushing at all, and honestly I’m quite fond of the hair.”

 

“Really?” He pats at his rumpled gray curls, eyeing her skeptically.

 

She nods, reaching up to trace her fingertips over the delicate, lined skin around his eyes. She traces over his cheek, down the bridge of his nose, and taps his lips with a beaming grin. “And that mouth, sweetie – never did I think I would hear my Doctor say such filthy things.”

 

“Your fault,” he mumbles, looking a bit smug. “As a matter of fact, I think this whole regeneration is your fault.”

 

“I’m happy to take credit for you, my love.” She removes her fingers from his lips to lean down and kiss him softly, delighted when he immediately brings a hand to the back of her head to hold her close and let the kiss linger. When they part, her eyes widen and she smiles. “Oh, I almost forgot your present.”

 

“You’re my present,” he says, frowning and tightening his arms around her when she tries to move away. “And when did you have time to get me anything? Before or after you married someone else to get a bloody diamond?”

 

“Before,” she says, ignoring his petulant jealousy. She slips from his grasp with a well-placed hand to distract him, grinning slyly when he lets go of her to clutch the mattress and gasp. He glowers after her, watching in silence as she slips naked from their bed and retrieves her handbag from the floor. “I was hoping I would run into you, but of course I couldn’t have known it would be this you.”

 

She’s suddenly very glad she hadn’t caved to his younger self’s incessant begging for a new hat. She imagines it simply isn’t his style anymore. Slipping the gift from her bag, she climbs back into bed and into the Doctor’s greedy, welcoming arms. He’s sitting up now and she settles onto his lap, smiling when he kisses her temple – hesitantly at first, like he’s still getting used to such gestures, and then again more firmly.

 

His voice rises in a deep rumble from his chest, pressed against her back. “What’ve you got, then?”

 

They’re not quite the traditional sort when it comes to gift-giving, not when she can steal anything she wants and the Doctor has lived so long he has most everything squirreled away on the TARDIS somewhere. There are still rings and flowers and new clothes and hats but more often than not, there are letters and Stevie Wonder in 1814 and self-portraits painted by Da Vinci and Botticelli, sonnets slipped between the pages of second-hand biographies in old bookstores like scavenger hunts.

 

River smoothes her hand over the cover of the book and shows it to him. “I checked the copy you have in the control room and it’s well-used but it isn’t this one. This one is-”

 

“Yours,” he says quietly, and strokes a reverent fingertip down the cracked spine. _The Time Traveler’s Wife_. “The one you were always scribbling and underlining bits in. The one you’d never let me see. Bloody infuriating.”

 

She nods, smiling. “The only book I’ve ever loved more is my diary. And I want you to have it now.”

 

He swallows audibly, his lips against her bare shoulder as he whispers, “Thank you.” She kisses his knuckles, her throat tight with relief at the genuine awe and gratitude in his voice. He grasps her fingers briefly and clears his throat. “Fetch my coat from the floor. I’ve got something for you too.”

 

She shakes her head, turning in his arms to face him. “Doctor, I’m not expecting anything from you -”

 

“My coat, wife,” he says, arching a brow at her sternly.

 

She sighs and bends over the side of the bed to reach it, smiling when she feels his eyes on her arse. Coat in hand, she returns to his side and drops it onto his lap, watching him fish through one of the pockets. She bites her lip. “This isn’t necessary, sweetie. I already know I’ve been out of your life for quite a while from your perspective -”

 

“A thousand years,” he admits, avoiding her pained gaze. “But I still carry you with me.”

 

With her curious eyes on him, the Doctor empties his pocket of everything it contains – a very familiar bowtie she’d once wrapped around her hand and said _I do_ , his diary of their meetings, a picture he’d snapped of her in full evening dress fishing on the side of a bank with Rudyard Kipling, a tube of lipstick, the scrap of paper where he’d once tried to calculate the exact number of curls on her head, her most favored trowel, the front cover of Melody Malone creased and folded in half, an empty vial of perfume, a loving sketch of her hands, a handwritten note she’d left him after a row in place of a goodbye, a lace glove, her favorite tea mug with the imprint of her red lipstick still around the rim…it goes on and on and she realizes he hadn’t been exaggerating – he really does carry her with him.

 

The entire contents of his inner coat pocket is a time capsule of their marriage and River glances up from the pile of sentimental trinkets to gaze at her husband through watery eyes, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. “Sweetie -”

 

“You are always here to me,” he says gruffly, curling his hand over her bare knee. “Never forget that, do you understand me?”

 

She nods wordlessly, too overwhelmed to offer him anything else, and the Doctor watches her with soft eyes. His mouth twitches in a smile and he mutters something about the mighty River Song brought to tears by a wee pocket and she huffs but goes willingly when he tugs her into his arms. She swallows back the emotion clogging her throat and hides her face in his neck but her voice still trembles and gives her away when she whispers against his skin, “Happy Christmas, sweetie.”

 

The Doctor buries his face in her hair and when he strokes his fingertips down the curve of her spine, it’s in the pattern of swirling Gallifreyan script she doesn’t need to translate to understand. “Happy Christmas, River.”


	55. 3 times 12 was the worst companion ever and 1 time he wasn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combination of two prompts - 1) the Doctor rescuing River from the robot trying to strangle her in the Christmas trailer 2) the Doctor as River's companion in the Special

When Nardole had dragged him from the TARDIS under the assumption that the Doctor was actually a surgeon, muttering about the king’s consort wanting to see him right away, the last thing he’d expected was to find River standing at the side of giant bloody robot with a human head. “My husband is dying.”

 

The Doctor glances skeptically between the scowling android and River, his utter glee at seeing her again dampened a bit by her claim. “That’s your husband?”

 

River glares. “Is there a problem?”

 

Bristling, he says, “Just doesn’t seem like your type.”

 

“And what would you know about that?”

 

Her eyes narrow dangerously and he feels an odd little thrill tickle up his spine. His mouth twitches in a grin. “Just a wee bit more than his majesty here.”

 

Gritting her teeth, River growls out, “Are you going to help him or not?”

 

The Doctor purses his lips, eyeing the android who had taken _his_ wife as his sodding consort. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

Her eyes widen. “Why not?”

 

He shrugs. “I don’t like him.”

 

River gapes at him.

 

The Doctor smirks. “Hang on, did you say King Hydroflax? The king in possession of the biggest diamond in the next five galaxies?” He laughs, relieved to finally understand. River isn’t really married. Or maybe she is. But she doesn’t mean it. It’s all a ruse, a con, a _game_. “Is that what you’re doing here, you bad girl? Doing a little shopping?”

 

King Hydroflax struggles to his feet, glaring at River. “Wife, what is the meaning of this?”

 

River sighs and pulls out her gun.

 

 _ii_.

 

“It’s bigger on the inside!”

 

The Doctor stands in the doorway of the TARDIS, gaping, but River slips past him and toward the controls. “Haven’t heard that one before,” she mutters.

 

He scowls. No one ever properly appreciates his bloody ship. Not one companion ever spends the proper amount of time ooh-ing and aww-ing. It’s always _isn’t that strange?_ and then they’re moving on to taunting his hair or his accent and it’s _ridiculous_. His ship is _bigger on the inside_. To humans, that should be the equivalent of stumbling upon the sodding wardrobe into Narnia. It should be magical. They should have to sit down and breathe into a paper fucking bag.

 

He’ll show them how it’s done.

 

“But – how is it bigger on the inside?”

 

River doesn’t glance up from the controls. “She’s dimensionally transcendental.”

 

“She? It’s a ship, how can it be a she?”

 

Sighing, River finally looks up at him, exasperated. “Because yes, she is a ship but she also possesses a certain degree of sapience.” She tilts her head a moment, squinting as though she’s listening – probably to the TARDIS. After a moment, she smiles softly and pats the console. “And she’s also my mother. A bit.”

 

He affects what he hopes is the right amount of shock and awe, gaping at her. “How?”

 

“Long story,” she murmurs, her attention already back on the controls.

 

“So she’s your ship?”

 

“Not quite.” River smirks. “I’m borrowing her from my husband.”

 

“The King?”

 

“No, my other husband.”

 

He huffs. “How many have you got?”

 

“As many as I need.” She winks. “Now shut the doors, would you?”

 

“You’re stealing a ship!” He scolds, and waves his arms about, gesturing widely. “A sentient ship that’s bigger on the inside!”

 

“I’ll bring her back, don’t worry. I do this all the time.”

 

“What?!”

 

 _iii_.

 

River puts him in charge of guarding the head in the bag – her husband – and the Doctor takes his duty seriously. Sort of. He just can’t help dropping it every now and then. Sometimes by accident and sometimes just to make sure His Majesty is still breathing. And sometimes Hydroflax complains so damn loudly the Doctor has no choice but to bury him in the snow and wait for him to quiet down.

 

Trowel gripped in one hand, River glances over her shoulder. “Coast is clear, let’s get moving before-” She pauses, frowning. “Where’s the bag?” The Doctor grins and reaches into the snow, fumbling for the handle and yanking the bag out. River huffs. “What was it doing in there?”

 

“He was getting a bit hot-headed.” The Doctor smirks, undeterred by her eye roll. “Thought he needed to cool off.”

 

“You’re going to suffocate him and then what good is he going to be,” she snaps. “No one is going to pay me the diamond for a dead king, you idiot.”

 

“Oi, I’m babysitting your husband as a favor -”

 

“No, you’re repaying a debt,” she growls, poking him in the chest. “Because my plan was going perfectly until you came in and bollocksed up the whole thing! And instead of just shooting you, I let you help me but all you’ve done is complain the entire time, you pain in the arse.”

 

He scowls and clutches the bag, making sure the idiot’s forehead bangs against his knee. The grumbling complaints from inside the bag almost make him smile but River is still glaring at him and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep his wits about him and not snog the hell out of her.

 

And he hasn’t meant to irritate her so much, honestly. It’s just that a sonic trowel is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard of and River insists on carrying the bloody thing about like a weapon. And she married some rubbish king for a diamond and while he’s relieved it isn’t a real marriage he’s still feeling a bit miffed about the whole thing. And if she flirts with that Ramone chap one more sodding time –

 

The Doctor sighs through his nose and bites out, “Sorry.”

 

River narrows her eyes. “Good. Now hold onto that bag and follow me.”

 

She grabs his hand and drags him along at a rapid pace and the Doctor has no choice but to jog to keep up with her. “Stop holding my hand,” he grumbles, feeling a bit like a child being dragged along on a boring errand. “People don’t do that to me!”

 

 _i_.

 

When her rubbish robot husband’s body finally catches up with them – and subsequently his wayward head – he sets his sights on River. The consort who had betrayed him. They hold him off for a while, passing the head back and forth like a bizarre schoolyard game of Keep Away but eventually, the Doctor winds up in possession of both the head and River’s trowel and His Majesty has lost interest in chasing him.

 

He goes after River, his mechanical arms wrapping around her throat from behind. River gasps and twists in his grip but the angle is too awkward for her to throw him off and the Doctor doesn’t have any delusions about the strength in his leggy, insect body this go round. But he just got his wife back and no fucking headless android is going to take her away from him.

 

With a grumbling sigh, he grips the trowel in one hand and whips the head out of the bag with the other. “Oi! Louis XVI!”

 

King Hydroflax pauses, his arms still tight around River’s throat. The head offers him a puzzled, angry glance. Ah, the historical reference has gone right over his head. In a manner of speaking.

 

The Doctor points the sonic trowel at the head he grips by the hair and snarls, “Release my wife or the head gets it.”

 

River stares at him through the curls hanging in her face, her eyes wide.

 

The robot body doesn’t move and the head the Doctor holds snorts. “You think a garden tool is going to frighten me?”

 

“Alright, it may not be her greatest weapon – I’m personally a fan of the lipstick but only on me – but this little beauty can still take your eyes out. Or maybe it’ll just hurt like a bastard.” The Doctor waggles his brows. “Care to find out?”

 

Slowly, the mechanical arms around River’s neck fall away. She stumbles from it gasping, shoving her hair out of her face and whirling to deliver a swift kick to the center of its chest. It crashes to the floor in a shower of sparks and she straightens her leather jacket with a sniff. “Consider that my official announcement of our separation.”

 

“About bloody time,” the Doctor mutters.

 

She turns on him with a glare. “Wife?”

 

He blinks at her innocently. “Figure of speech.”

 

With an incredulous burst of laughter, River snatches her trowel from him and beams. “You’re a rubbish companion, Doctor.”

 

He scowls.

 

River reaches out a hand to cup his cheek, her eyes softer and knowing and Christ, he’s missed that look. “But you’re not a bad husband.”

 

That, he decides, is infinitely better anyway.


	56. twelve tries to be romantic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Twelve tries to be romantic and give River flowers but she's allergic to them.

No matter what she actually says on the subject of his new body, he knows River must be at least a little disappointed. Perhaps not physically – for some reason, she tends to be a bit absent-minded about the face he wears. It truly doesn’t matter what he looks like to River. What must matter – he knows it must – is how much everything else has changed.

 

He’s not the bowtie-wearing romantic she’d agreed to marry and surely she sees that by now. He used to reach for her hand first and bop her on the nose and fiddle with her hair. He used to apologize after rows with grand, sweeping gestures. He’d given her months-long birthday celebrations and weeks of anniversary surprises leading up to the actual day. He’d delighted in spoiling River and perhaps that had a lot to do with the weight of the guilt he carried about both her end and his inability to say what she needed to hear, but surely River must miss all of that now.

 

This body struggles with physical affection and sweeping gestures of romance are no longer second nature. The whole thing confounds him this go round. He knows that he loves his wife and he knows that once he gets past his first knee-jerk reaction to recoil, he quite enjoys holding her hand and kissing her and running his hands and his mouth over her naked skin. It just doesn’t come naturally anymore.

 

And he hates it.

 

Which is how he ends up browsing an entire bloody planet of florist shops to search out just the right bouquet – something that says _I’m trying_ and _I’m sorry I’m so rubbish_ and _thank you for being patient with me and also for that thing you do with your tongue_. It’s quite the arrangement when he’s done and he’s feeling a bit rightfully proud of himself for having handpicked each flower himself.

 

It’s even better when he sees River’s delighted smile when he awkwardly presents the bouquet to her. She laughs softly and cradles the huge arrangement to her chest, dipping her head to sniff the petals thoughtfully. “They’re beautiful, honey,” she says, glancing up at him through her lashes. It makes his hearts give a soppy, excited little pitter-pat. “Thank you.”

 

She leans in to kiss him and abruptly turns away, sneezing.

 

And again. And again.

 

The flowers in her arms quiver with every sneeze, petals falling off to drift to the ground and rest at her feet. “Oh no,” she says, sniffling and eyeing the bouquet in dismay. “Perhaps you should take these and put them in water, sweet – _achoo_!”

 

The Doctor hurriedly takes the flowers from her and grasps her by the elbow to steady her, frowning in concern. “Alright?”

 

River waves him away. “Fine.” She sounds congested and he fumbles for the handkerchief in his pocket, pushing it into her hand. She snuffles into it. “Sweetie, are there Uthe flowers in that bouquet?”

 

He peers into the huge arrangement and frowns. “Yes, why?”

 

River sneezes again. “I’m allergic.”

 

 _Fuck_.

 

He gets her into bed quickly, cursing himself the entire time he checks her vitals. Quickly determining that she only needs some distance from the flowers and a few antihistamines, he chucks the entire sodding bouquet out of the TARDIS and into space, makes her a cup of tea and fusses over the arrangement of her pillows. All the while, he bites his tongue against every pathetic apology he could offer. He’d forgotten she was allergic to Uthe flowers. How could he have forgotten that? How could he have forgotten one fucking thing about her?

 

This body really is shite at romance. He can’t even give her flowers without buggering it up somehow. He silently resigns himself to being an utter disappointment to his wife this go round and spends the day tending to her. He brings her books and tea and her favorite foods and an endless supply of hankies, occasionally checking her vitals and making her nap.

 

When she wakes from the third one at the end of the day, he sits beside her bed with a bowl of soup and a cup of steaming chamomile, forcing her to take her dose of allergy medication with a glare. River leans against the pile of fluffed pillows he’d arranged for her with an exasperated smile, still clutching a handkerchief. “You’ve become quite the mother hen in this body, you know.”

 

He frowns. “Have not.”

 

“You’re positively fretful, sweetie.” She sips a spoonful of her soup and hums, glancing at him with a smile. “It’s infuriating.”

 

The Doctor ducks his head and frowns at his knees.

 

River reaches out a hand and strokes his cheek. “I quite like it.”

 

He raises his eyes to regard her skeptically.

 

Sighing, River drops her hand and returns to her soup. “Bless your last body, honey, but he was a bit rubbish at all this. Couldn’t sit still long enough to take care of a plant, let alone me.” She wraps her hands around her cup of chamomile and inhales the steam, looking stronger and bright-eyed and he concludes with relief that by tomorrow she’ll be good as new. She glances away from his intent gaze and admits softly, “It’s a nice change.”

 

His hearts lift instantly at the quiet, shy admission and the Doctor outright grins at her, watching in silence as River finishes her soup and her tea. She pushes it all aside when she’s done and tugs him into bed with her and he doesn’t even flinch as she curls around him and bullies him into holding her snugly against him. Grand gestures may fail him but he rather likes the notion of being someone his wife can count on with the small things, when it matters. He buries his face in her hair and feels terribly smug.

 

_Take that, Bowtie._


	57. amy and eleven run into twelve and river

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River and Twelve run into series 5 Amy and Eleven.

Amy insists on a proper holiday with a beach and sun and lazing about but the Doctor isn’t one to do anything by halves so he takes her to Space Florida instead. There’s still a sun and sand and plenty of time for Amelia to practice doing absolutely nothing but at least here he won’t be driven to insanity by boredom. Though Amy is so excited he’s starting to regret it – it wouldn’t be so bad if she would stop dragging him about and making him stumble into people. And aliens. Some species consider full body contact a proposal and well, the Doctor isn’t prepared for that sort of commitment. Again.

 

At least not yet.

 

His mind flashes inevitably toward River Song and their mysterious future, and when he catches a glimpse of her curls in the crowd he’s almost certain it’s only a trick of his mind. Except his mind doesn’t play tricks – he’s not a human, after all. Blinking, the Doctor halts in the middle of the boardwalk and stares at River Song.

 

Wearing a flouncy little sundress that bares her tanned shoulders and the elegant slope of her back, she looks like a native. Or perhaps some sort of sun goddess the locals might worship. Her golden curls bounce delightfully against one another as she tilts her head and smiles up at –

 

The Doctor frowns.

 

River is smiling at some old man in dark sunglasses. He wears dark trousers and a waistcoat, his white button down rolled up to his elbows. His mop of gray curls flutters in the breeze and he’s grinning down at River with a mischievous waggle of his eyebrows. River laughs at whatever he’d said, turning to rest one of her hands on his chest.

 

The Doctor stares, feeling something uncomfortable uncoil in his stomach. They look very intimate together. Familiar. Like old friends. Or lovers. He swallows.

 

“ _Doctor_!” Amy waves a hand in front of his face and he blinks, tearing his gaze away from River and her companion to look at her. She huffs, scowling. “I’ve been talking for five minutes and you haven’t heard a bloody word of it, have you? What’s the matter, Raggedy Man?”

 

“Nothing.” When her eyes narrow, he sighs and allows his gaze to wander back to River. She and the old man have stopped at a games booth, taking turns aiming a ball at the glass bottles to knock them over. An old Earth game but it’s become quite popular again at these spacey-wacey tourist traps.

 

Amy follows his stare and her eyes widen. “Hey, isn’t that -”

 

“Yes.”

 

Amy squints, peering over the crowd. “Who is she with?”

 

The Doctor sniffs. “How should I know?”

 

The old man is rubbish at the game but River wins a stuffed bear. She presents it to the old man with a flourish and the Doctor can see her mouthing something like _for you, sweetie_. He grits his teeth. For some reason, he’d been under the impression it was a pet name reserved only for him. It had been a silly assumption, really. He hardly knows River. Maybe she calls everyone that.

 

Or at least everyone she snogs.

 

Like the old man clutching the bear in one hand and River’s hip in the other, kissing her quite thoroughly. Honestly, it’s a bit much for such a public place. The Doctor looks away, the uncomfortable knot in his stomach growing.

 

Clutching his arm, Amy stares. “Oh my god, she’s snogging him!”

 

“Yes, Pond,” he says, grimacing. “I can see that.”

 

“But she’s Mrs. Doctor from the future!”

 

He huffs, glowering at his shoes. “Just because you keep saying it doesn’t make it true, you know.”

 

She elbows him in the ribs. “But she is! I know it -”

 

“Apparently you don’t because -” He gestures blindly in the direction of River and her _beau_ , scowling. “She’s quite busy with someone who is clearly _not_ me.” Amy’s eyes light up and she smacks his chest. The Doctor recoils, rubbing a hand over his hearts. “Oi! What was that for?!”

 

“Because numpty,” she says, smiling gleefully. “You told me what you can do – you can change your face. What if that’s you in the future?”

 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. As much as everything inside him protests against it, he cannot control the powerful urge to seek out River and the old man who makes her smile without fear of the future. He’s never seen her do that before. He swallows. “It can’t be me, Pond.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I don’t have any regenerations left,” he explains softly, watching River steal the old man’s ice cream cone and lick sinfully around the circumference of it. The old man watches her with dark, interested eyes. The unease flares in his belly and the Doctor quietly admits that perhaps he’s a bit jealous. “Whoever that man is, he’s not me.”

 

But it’s alright, really. As infuriating as she is and as mad as she drives him, he knows River deserves better than the Doctor. She deserves more than a relationship he wouldn’t even know he was in half the time or promises he couldn’t keep. She deserves more than a crumbling diary left to the shadows. She deserves sunny days and ice cream, she deserves snogging in public and tender fingertips on her sun-kissed skin. Whoever that man is, that’s who River Song deserves.

 

With a lump in his throat, the Doctor turns and offers Amy Pond his brightest grin. She watches him with pity but when he takes her hand and pulls her off in the other direction, loudly insisting on surf lessons, she follows him without a word of protest. He walks away determined not to look back, and as such, he misses the old man staring after them, watching them walk away with a wistful smile.


	58. dying is easy, living is harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title from Hamilton

He doesn’t remember much after the shot was fired.

 

There had been a lot of blood – River’s – and a lot of screaming and cursing – him – but the rest of it is a bit of a blur. He remembers only a few graphic images, like the way his arms shook when he gathered his unconscious wife into them. His stumble back to the TARDIS with her has been all but blocked from his memory but he remembers with sickening clarity the feel of her warm blood soaking his shirt and making his hands sticky. He doesn’t remember punching in the coordinates for the Infinite Schism but he remembers stroking River’s face with bloodstained fingers and growling at her _don’t you fucking dare quit breathing_.

 

And now he sits slouched on the floor in the corridor outside the operating room – he’d thrown a proper tantrum when they’d tried to make him stay in the waiting room – hoping that the Sisters and their technology are going to be able to put his wife back together again. The Doctor digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and breathes unsteadily through his nose, knowing there is a very real possibility that this is it.

 

There is no safety net in the form of a Library – not anymore – and as fucking horrifying as that foreknowledge had been, it had still been a comfort at times. She couldn’t die because she already had. It made it a lot easier to breathe when she stepped directly in the line of fire, when she ran headlong into every explosion, every bar fight, every Sontaran hen night. She would be fine.

 

He’d never realized until he didn’t have it anymore just how important the Library had been in preventing him from becoming a sodding mother hen. All he does is fret now that his wife has escaped her fate because there is absolutely nothing to stop the universe from snatching her away again. And it seems like all it has done since he got her back is try to steal her from him. There have been a lot of close calls because River never bloody slows down for a second but _this_ –

 

The Doctor draws in a shuddering breath and swallows thickly, lifting his head. Colored spots dance in front of his vision for a moment and he blinks, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He could lose her. Any moment now, some fucking cat nurse could wander out of that room with River’s blood all over her gloved hands and tell him they’d done everything they could but it hadn’t been enough.

 

His stomach heaves and the Doctor clamps his lips tightly shut, pressing his face between his knees. He can’t say goodbye again. There isn’t enough strength left in him to grieve her all over again – not when he has fresh memories of just how it feels to have her back. He has woken with her hair in his face and her hands clinging to his shirt in the morning, he has watched her sit at her vanity and try to tame her hair before a night out and felt her lips at the back of his neck when he’s tinkering with the TARDIS. He has felt her hand in his when he runs and felt her warm and steady at his back when he needed her protection. He has heard her laughter and her bare feet against the control room floor, grumbled about finding her knickers in his trouser pockets and her guns in their bedcovers. He has rediscovered what it means to have River Song back in his life again and he cannot – will not – relinquish it. Not ever again. He’ll tear the universe apart and watch it burn before he lets her go now.

 

The Doctor grits his teeth and clenches his hands into fists, fierce determination curling around his hearts. No matter the outcome today, River isn’t dying. He’ll go back. He’ll rewrite it, keep her from that battle and entice her into staying in their bed instead. He doesn’t care what the consequences might be and yes, River would hate it but she doesn’t know what it’s like to live with this fucking terror every single day. He always comes back to her. The Doctor has never had that reassurance with his wife.

 

“Doctor?”

 

He jerks his head up, red-eyed and startled. The nurse blinks at the grim resolve in his eyes but she recovers herself quickly, watching him scramble to his feet and stumble toward her. “Well? How is she? Is she alive? Is she -” He stops, unable to say the word. He growls instead and snaps, “Fucking _tell_ me!”

 

Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t lose her temper. Her voice is gentle when she says, “It was a very precarious surgery but she came through just fine. She just needs to rest.” When his eyes water and he clenches his jaw, looking away to glare at the floor and try to sodding well breathe again, she reaches out a paw and pats at his arm. He flinches. “Your wife is going to be alright, Doctor.”

 

He nods tersely, struggling to speak around the lump in his throat. “When can I see her? I want to see her.”

 

“They’ve transferred her to the recovery wing,” she says gently. “You can find her in room 307.”

 

He barely pauses to mutter his thanks, barely even remembers turning on his heel and stalking away. He makes it to the recovery wing of the hospital with only vague memories of the walk there, wondering how many people he’d bumped into and snapped at in the process. He stands outside of room 307 and presses a trembling hand to the door. As eager as he’d been to get here, he can’t quite bring himself to go in just yet. He isn’t ready to see her battered and bruised, isn’t ready for another reminder of just how mortal his stupid, infuriating, wonderful love is.

 

But this body is a bit braver than his last. Well, not braver so much as too stubborn to run from his mistakes any longer. He’s tired of running away. So he takes a breath, fumbles for the control panel on the door, and presses the button to open it. His eyes are drawn to River the moment he steps into the room and he barely hears the door slide back into place and seal shut behind him. She’s pale and sleeping but to his relief, the bed sheet covers the wound. If it weren’t for the bruise blooming on her cheek or the deep cut over her eyebrow, he could have convinced himself she was only napping on the TARDIS.

 

He tries to pretend anyway, moving slowly across the room toward her like a moth drawn to a sodding stubborn, beautiful flame. He sinks bonelessly into the chair beside her bed and stares wearily at her. He’d been prepared to tear time itself apart to save her and he’d thought she’d done it before because she was so young and reckless but he’d been wrong. She’d just been too in love and too desperate to give a damn about anything else. He doesn’t feel any regret for being selfish enough to finally catch up with her.

 

“Sweetie?”

 

He closes his eyes at the sound of her voice, squeezing her hand.

 

“Stop brooding.”

 

“I’m not brooding,” he says weakly. “It’s just the eyebrows.”

 

River smiles tiredly. “Alright?”

 

He sighs. She’s the one lying in a hospital bed, the one who’d almost fucking died, and she’s asking if he’s sodding well alright. No, he’s not alright but this isn’t about him. Christ, he could lovingly strangle her. He could shout at her for taking risks but it wouldn’t do any good because she’ll never change and he would never ask her to. He could tell her what he’d been prepared to do for love of her. He could tell her he finally understands what it means to not give a fuck about the needs of the many, not when there’s only one that matters. But she wouldn’t thank him for that and he knows it’s going to be a revelation he keeps to himself, that he tucks away and she pretends not to see.

 

So instead of telling her anything, the Doctor ducks his head and presses his lips against her knuckles, breathing in the scent of her skin with gratitude welling in his hearts. She’s alive and for now, the universe is safe from him. “I’m fine,” he answers, and forces a smile. “So are you.”


	59. love doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers if you haven't seen the Christmas Special!
> 
> Combined two prompts: Twelve actually says I Love You during those 24 years + Twelve tries to make River believe what she means to him
> 
> Story title from Hamilton

 

It’s been five years on Darillium – with the occasional hop off planet in the TARDIS only to return seconds after they left – and he thinks he might be able to stretch their twenty-four years into two hundred if he’s very careful. If River notices how slowly their time together is passing, she doesn’t mention it. She must suspect what he’s doing but he imagines she’s as desperate to make their time last as he is.

 

So they creep along slowly, hand in hand, and make a tentative go at piecing together their fractured marriage. He hadn’t realized just how much he had broken it until he was standing beside her and listening to her shout with absolute conviction that the Doctor had never and would never love her. And he couldn’t begin to understand where she had gotten such a sodding ridiculous notion.

 

Of course he’d never come out and said it but he’d certainly done his best to show her. He’d spent their life together in his last body trying to make up for what she had endured because of him. Apparently, he’d been rubbish at it.

 

Lying beside her, already half-asleep and thoroughly worn out, the Doctor watches through half-lidded eyes as River curls trustingly into him and pillows her head on his chest. She makes a soft, satisfied noise of contentment and he strokes a hand down her back, inexplicably troubled despite the pleasure still thrumming under his skin. All of those moments – when he came running when she called, when he held her in his arms, when he took her ice skating for her birthday, when he brought her to see more stars in one sky than at any other moment in history, when he reached for her hand, when he gave her flowers and took her dancing and blushed when she winked at him, he thought he’d been telling her exactly what was in his hearts. And it turns out he hadn’t been saying anything at all.

 

He clears his throat, staring sightlessly at the ceiling overhead. “You really never thought I loved you?”

 

River stiffens at that, her once pliable limbs tensing around him. The Doctor turns his head and presses his lips against her temple tenderly, gratified to feel her relax again almost instantly. “I knew you cared for me as much as you could, sweetie. I knew you tried. It was more than I ever expected.”

 

And that is what galls him. This woman, this absolute fucking force of nature, had loved him with everything in her and never once expected him to give her the same in return. She hadn’t even been bitter about it. As though it would be enough just to be allowed to love him. Every time he thinks about it he wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she understands.

 

He sighs into her hair, curling his fingers around her hip. “Such low expectations of me. I suppose I deserve that.”

 

“Stop it,” she says, lifting her head from his chest with a scowl. “It was my choice to love you anyway.”

 

“You think love is a choice?”

 

“Always.” She strokes her fingertips over his brow and doesn’t quite meet his gaze. “I chose to love you instead of hating you. And I’ve never once regretted that.”

 

He swallows. “Not even when you thought you’d married someone who couldn’t return your feelings?”

 

She shakes her head, smiling softly. Her eyes roam over his face fondly. “I loved you enough for both of us.”

 

His chest aches and he whispers, “You never had to.”

 

“Oh?” She lifts a brow at him, trying to look playfully interested, but he knows her too well. He can see the curiosity lurking in her eyes, the skepticism, the clear and hungry need. “Do tell, darling.”

 

The Doctor hesitates only for a moment. This body is rubbish with words and feelings but River deserves this. She deserves everything and he’s finally going to stop mucking about and give it to her. “I knew I would love you the first time I met you and every time I met you after that only made me more certain.”

 

River stares at him, lips parted and eyes welling up.

 

“The first time you kissed me, I knew it was far too late to run away. When I found out who you were, Melody Pond, I didn’t want to run anymore. Not even when you were killing me.” River flinches at that and he brushes his knuckles softly over her cheek until she looks at him again. “I thought I could never love you more than I did watching you become my River. Quite stupid of me, of course. Always room for more love. You taught me that.”

 

She swallows thickly and when she speaks, her voice wobbles. “Doctor, you don’t have to -”

 

“Oh, but I do, wife,” he murmurs, bending his head and letting his nose brush hers. “It’s about time you understood what I’ve known for centuries.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“You’re the only one I could ever give my hearts to. And I did, centuries ago. Standing on a pyramid with a bowtie wrapped round my hand.” He pulls away just enough to stare into her wide eyes, smiling gently. “Love was never a choice for me. I fell despite my best intentions. You’re my monolith, River, and I never expected to be good enough for you -”

 

“Shut up,” she breathes, and tangles her fingers in his hair to pull him down for a kiss. He surges up to meet her mouth eagerly, relieved by the uninhibited passion in her kiss even as the tears on her cheeks worry him. He tastes them on his tongue and presses a hand against her back, pulling her closer.

 

He breaks away, clinging to her, his fingers digging into her bare skin. “Just so we’re clear,” he says, his breathing a little labored. “I just said that I love you. So no more of that sunset bollocks -”

 

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” she mutters, and kisses him again. He feels her smile against his mouth and suddenly her tears don’t taste quite so bitter anymore. She presses her lips against his cheeks and his nose, his eyelids and along his jaw. “You stupid, sentimental old man,” she says, her voice thick. “I love you too.”

 

He still isn’t sure if she believes him but he’s got another twenty years – _no, another_ _two hundred_ , he thinks giddily – to prove it.


	60. there's precious little else to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Christmas Special if you haven't seen it.
> 
> Prompt: The Doctor and River discuss the 'not one living thing is worth you' moment.
> 
> Story title from Hot Gates by Mumford and Sons.

 

“Did you mean it?”

 

He looks up from perusing his menu and finds his wife eyeing him uncertainly, her hands in her lap and her own menu lying ignored on the table beside her wine. He puts on a good show for her but he’s not oblivious – River is beautiful. And tonight, their first night of many linear nights to come, she looks more stunning than he’s ever seen her. It isn’t the clothes – although that dress does do remarkable things to her curves – and it isn’t her hair – again, remarkable - but something else entirely that makes her the most beautiful woman he’s ever known. The calculating intelligence shining in her eyes, the unsure way she bites her lip, the undying devotion she can never quite manage to hide. One day, he might gather the courage to tell her what he sees when he looks at her. They’ve got time.

 

He blinks. “Did I mean what? I’ve said a lot of things. _You’ve_ said a lot of things.” He raises a brow at her when she glares. “Shall we go over all of it? Damsel in distress? Stealing my TARDIS? Oh, I believe you referred to me as someone useful but not particularly special to you -” He says it teasingly but there’s no denying the way that particular remark had stung. It had taken ages to get rid of the sinking disappointment in his stomach.

 

River scowls, picking up her wine glass like she might throw it at him. “Stop it. You know I didn’t mean that – as if I would tell a complete stranger, which at the time is exactly what you were, what my Doctor meant to me. As you may have noticed, sweetie, people tend to use my association with you against me.”

 

“Apologies for that,” he murmurs, and he knows he’s staring at her like a besotted fool, that he has been all night, but he can’t make himself stop. River doesn’t seem to mind anyway. She softens when he grins at her and he gently coaxes her into setting aside her wine so he can hold her hand. He entwines their fingers and resists the urge to kiss her knuckles. If he starts kissing her anywhere, he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop. “Did I mean what, dear?”

 

She draws in a breath and looks away, staring fixedly at her place setting. “Not one living thing is worth you.”

 

“Course I meant it.” He frowns, watching her eyes snap up to his in surprise. What had she been expecting? For him to recant? “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t. This body doesn’t placate.”

 

River stares at him for a moment, lips parted, before she snaps her mouth shut and does her best not to look flustered. She’s terrible at it, which he rather loves. He’s never flustered her before. It was always the other way around and now that he’s surprised her for the second time tonight, he’s starting to have a bit of a fondness for it. “I assumed you were merely caught up in the moment. People say a lot of things when they’re about to die.”

 

“We weren’t about to die,” he says, and nudges her foot gently beneath the table. “Not even if I had to carry you off kicking and screaming.”

 

Her eyes narrow. “I’d like to see you try, darling.”

 

He smirks and part of him wants to let it go, to change the subject and avoid this particular conversation like the bloody plague but he won’t go another second more with River thinking he hadn’t meant every damn word. “I meant it. I meant it then, I mean it right now, and I meant it the day I met you.” Her hand trembles in his grasp and he tightens his hold on her fingers, watching her look at him like she can’t decide if she wants to kiss him or slap him. “No one is worth you. No one means more to me than you. Do you understand?”

 

She nods, a sheen of tears in her eyes as she stares at their joined hands on the table. “You shouldn’t feel that way about me.”

 

He snorts. Honestly, he can’t sodding well please the woman. “Why not?”

 

“Because it’s too ordinary,” she snaps. “It’s human and weak and _I don’t want to be your weakness_.”

 

“Too late,” he murmurs, watching her fight back tears. “And no matter what you think, River, I’m not some sort of god. I’m not the stars. Not a sunset. Not a sodding monolith.” He sighs, ducking his head and surrendering to the urge to press his lips to the back of her hand. “I’m just a man very much in love.”

 

She shakes her head, pursing her lips tightly together. “You embarrass me.”

 

“Good.” He grins at her. “Might as well get used to it, dear. I’ve a lot to make up for.”


	61. she's not heavy, she's my world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Christmas Special if you haven't seen it. 
> 
> Prompt: River inwardly expecting the Doctor to leave before the full 24 years is up
> 
> Story title from We Are Birds by Brighten.

 

They’ve spent many an afternoon on Darillium safely ensconced in the TARDIS library, their socked feet brushing and their limbs all tangled together as they read on the sofa. He’s gotten quite good at this domestic business. Sometimes he thinks it even suits him. He worries about River, though. She’s seemed content enough until recently and now she’s curled up on the other end of the sofa, not touching him at all and not even pretending to read. She’s blatantly staring at him but he pretends not to notice.

 

It’s taken him a while to realize but he’s been a bit preoccupied getting to know his wife all over again – and letting her get to know him. River’s methods of becoming reacquainted are rather distracting. And pleasurably exhausting. It’s been a year and much to his chagrin, it’s only now that he sees she’s holding herself back. And then there are those comments she’s begun to offer.

 

_“We’ve never had so much linear time together. You’re going to get bored of me, honey.”_

_“Do you think the TARDIS misses the excitement of new places?”_

_“Oh, you’re still here. I half expected to wake up and find you building a better mousetrap or whatever it is you do when I sleep.”_

_“Another gift? Careful, darling, I’ll get used to having you about.”_

 

In some ways, it reminds him of their early dates on board the TARDIS, when she was young and the end of every night meant returning to Stormcage. She would get this look in her eyes in the middle of some grand adventure and take a moment to touch his bowtie, gazing up at him like he was already leaving her. She’s doing it right now and he’s sitting comfortably across from her, a book open on his lap.

 

Carefully, he closes his book and looks up. River looks startled to have his full attention so suddenly and she quickly looks away, trying to pretend she hasn’t been staring for the last half hour. Not fooled for a moment, the Doctor sets aside his book and wings an eyebrow at her. “Something on your mind, dear?”

 

“No, my love,” she says, blinking at him innocently. Her smile is soft and just a little nervous. “Why would you say that?”

 

“You’ve been thinking.”

 

“I’m always thinking.”

 

“Yes, but right now it’s practically audible.”

 

She frowns and looks away, poking irritably at a worn spot on the arm of the sofa. “It’s nothing.” When he only stares at her skeptically, she huffs. “I’m just having some difficulty adjusting to all this togetherness, that’s all.” It’s a lie. A good one, but still a lie nonetheless. The Doctor waits patiently for her to finish. “Things have been rather peaceful around here.” She bites her lip, surreptitiously eyeing him through her lashes. The question, when it comes, is tentative and soft enough to break his hearts. “Aren’t you bored?”

 

He shakes his head, watching her silently for a moment. “I’m spending time with my wife. Considering my wife is _you_ , what part of that could ever be boring?”

 

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I could be boring.”

 

He stifles a smirk. “Sorry dear, I don’t believe you.”

 

“Well how would you know? We’re only on year one.”

 

He lifts a brow at her. “Good point. I look forward to being proven right then.”

 

Scoffing, River glances away again. “Doctor, we both know that you’re itching to be anywhere else right now. I’m honestly impressed that you’ve lasted this long, darling, but you’re welcome to scarper whenever you like. I hardly expect you to last over two decades in one place.”

 

“I’m not _itching_ to do anything but shake some bloody sense into you,” he snaps. Her eyes widen but quickly narrow into a stubborn glare he delights to see. Good, she’s willing to fight. She only fights for the things she cares about. “You’re waiting for me to get bored and leave. Well guess what, dear? It isn’t going to happen.”

 

“Who are you trying to fool, Doctor?” She shakes her head. “You always leave.”

 

“No, I think you’ll find I’m always being left. If you’d like to go, no one is holding you here.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand and watches her jaw clench. “Go on. Find yourself another husband and dig up some dead things. I’m not stopping you.”

 

“I don’t want another husband, you jealous idiot,” she snaps. “And I don’t want to go anywhere.”

 

“Then what do you want, River? Because I’m at a sodding loss!”

 

“I want you to be happy here!” She blinks away tears, gripping the arm of the sofa so tightly she’s going to make another spot on it. “If that means leaving now while things are good, then I want you to go.”

 

“You’re infuriating, do you know that?” He runs a hand through his hair and glares at her. “You wanted more time, I’m giving it to you, and you’re still determined to believe I’d be happier somewhere else.”

 

“Wouldn’t you?”

 

He stares at her helplessly. “No!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because _you_ wouldn’t be there!”

 

River drops her gaze to her lap and purses her lips, her eyes welling up. “Oh.”

 

The Doctor rolls his eyes and mocks, “Yes, _oh_. Bloody impossible, you are.”

 

Sniffing, River lifts her eyes and glares weakly. “It’s your fault, you know. Your last body had the attention span of a toddler. You can’t blame me for thinking you’d be climbing the walls to get away from here by now.”

 

“No, I don’t blame you,” he says, sighing. “I blame me.” She unfolds herself from her end of the sofa and finally closes the distance between them, tucking herself under his arm. He wraps it around her and turns his head to press his face into her hair, breathing her in. “I’m not going anywhere, River. I’m not spending one moment away from you.”

 

She nods but he can sense her lingering uncertainty and hates himself just a little more for it. He holds her tighter, letting his mouth brush her ear. “This time isn’t just a gift for you. I’m selfish and old and I’ve missed you. When I leave this planet, it won’t be by choice.” He swallows, feeling her sigh shakily against him. “It’ll be because time came and stole me away from you.”

 

He’ll spend the next twenty years making her believe that but hopefully it won’t take that long. There are a lot of other things he’d rather spend his time doing with her instead.

 

Slowly, he feels River relax against him. She turns her face into his neck and says with a playfulness that makes him sag with relief, “I believe we’ve just had our first domestic.” He opens his mouth to protest and she quiets him with a scornful, “Oh shut up, I meant on Darillium.”

 

He hums thoughtfully. “How did we do?”

 

“Not bad.” She glances up at him slyly. “The making up could use some work.”

 

“Well,” he says, his eyes drifting to her smiling mouth and staying there. He licks his lips. “Practice makes perfect.”


	62. i was made to keep your body warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Christmas Special if you haven't seen it. 
> 
> Prompt: River gets acquainted with Twelve's body.
> 
> Story title from Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran.

 

No one has touched him in this body yet. No one has seen beneath the magician’s clothes and he supposes it’s only fitting that River be the first. She undresses him like she’s unwrapping a present, like she’s dismantling a bomb – and she’s just reckless enough to treat them both like they’re one and the same. Though he’d initially protested skipping dinner, his nerves getting the better of him, the time without her falls away the minute her hands touch his bare skin.

 

He remembers with a sudden rush how she likes to be touched and where but she doesn’t let him try for long, swatting him away with a murmured, “Me first, darling.” She slips out of her dress and pushes him onto their bed, straddling his waist and staring down at him – frozen with want and gazing up at her with the same reverence she had gazed at the Towers with. She is his monolith, his sunset and stars, and he’ll never quite understand why someone so much larger than life would ever look at him the way she does but his body reacts to the simmering heat in her eyes the way it always has.

 

Squirming beneath her, he watches her fingertips trail softly over his chest and down his stomach. He shudders, drawing in a sharp breath and squeezing his eyes shut as she wraps a firm hand around him. “Not bad,” she murmurs, sounding pleased. “Not bad at all, darling.”

 

He struggles not to show her just how affected he is by the mere touch of her hand, only releasing a breath when she lets go and moves away, dropping her mouth to his chest and biting hard enough to bruise. He tangles a hand in her hair and manages a faint, hopeful, “Not disappointed then?”

 

River bites him again and he hisses. “You’re you, Doctor. You never disappoint me. Well, not physically.”

 

He flinches.

 

She strokes her tongue over the bite marks in apology and peeks at him through her lashes. “And you?”

 

Clearing his throat, he watches in rapt fascination as she skims his ribs with her fingertips and counts the freckles scattered along his collarbone. She’s studying him, cataloguing all of his new weak spots like the assassin she will always be, only she isn’t going to use her knowledge to kill him. At least not permanently. It’ll only be a little death and he’s rather looking forward to it. “What about you?”

 

She isn’t looking at him now and he stares at her, puzzled by the way she avoids his gaze. When he reaches for her, she slaps him away and tugs at his nipple with her teeth. He sucks in a quick breath and shifts his legs, spreading them a little wider to ease the ache between them. River notices, of course, and smirks. Her hand wanders down his stomach again and this time, when she wraps a hand around him, she pumps it up and down in a vicious rhythm that steals his breath and refuses to give it back. He gasps and swears and growls but she doesn’t let up. Not even when she asks, “Are you disappointed?”

 

It’s difficult to think with her small, clever hand wrapped mercilessly around his cock but the Doctor manages a snort, gripping the sheets beneath him to keep from touching her again. For whatever reason, River doesn’t seem keen on his grasping hands just yet. Disappointed? He’s the one with the new, old body. She hasn’t changed at all.

 

“Haven’t I?”

 

For a moment, he can only stare helplessly at her and lift his hips into her hand but when she squeezes him – hard – his brain jolts to life again and he realizes he’d spoken out loud. “Look the same to me,” he manages faintly, frustrated by both her dispassionate gaze and her willingness to have a bloody conversation _now_.

 

River purses her lips and swirls her thumb around the head of his cock in a slick, filthy circle that makes his eyes glaze over. “But I’m not, Doctor. I’m not at all what you thought I was. I don’t care about anyone but the people I love. You, my parents. They’re gone. You’re the only one left and the rest of the universe can go to hell.”

 

Her hand slips to the base of his cock and pauses just long enough to help him focus on something besides the fire raging under his skin. He fights for breath and tries to listen. “I kill when it suits me and I call murderers my friends. I steal and cheat and lie and most days, I’m not sorry. I don’t have enough of a conscience to be sorry.”

 

She starts moving her hand again, watching with bright eyes as he quivers and turns into a useless Scottish puddle beneath her touch. Her lower lip trembles but her gaze is hard, as cold and calculated as her touch, with the desperate edge of someone who wants to be loved despite her inability to believe she really deserves it. His River, so much more human than she thinks she is.

 

The Doctor writhes beneath her, torn between the pleasure she gives and the words that need all of his attention. Cruelly, River doesn’t let up. “When I’m with you, I try very hard to pretend and you’re so _good_ that it’s almost easy. But it’s not me, my love. Not really. I never stopped being a psychopath. I just got better at hiding it.”

 

Finally, she lets go of him but only to drop her head and take him into her mouth. The Doctor shouts and arches into the hot slickness of her for a moment, tangling his hands in her hair. “Fucking hell, River – no _wait_ -” He pushes her away, using every ounce of willpower he possesses.

 

River sits up willingly, looking resigned, and the Doctor struggles to regain control of his breathing and his body. Desire still rages through him and he turns away, scrubbing a hand over his face. The ache between his legs is near fucking unbearable but he needs to focus. River needs him to focus despite her best efforts to keep him distracted.

 

“You could at least let me finish with you,” she says softly, keeping her voice light. “It’s only polite to let your wife give you a blowjob before you leave her.”

 

He groans, lifting his head. “Who said anything about leaving you?”

 

She blinks at him. “Well, aren’t you? I’m not who you thought I was.”

 

“Buggering hell, River, the first time you actually show me you and you think I’m going to run for the hills? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the bowtie-wearing numpty who liked to run away from things.” He sighs, valiantly struggling to ignore the very awake part of his anatomy that is not in the mood to _talk_. “I’m in love with you, not oblivious.”

 

“I – sorry, what?”

 

He shrugs. “You’re wild and reckless and brave and clever – you’ve always been that. And maybe it’s wrong to find the whole no conscience thing sexy but you’re River – I find everything about you sexy. Even the parts of you that you’d rather I didn’t see. Even the parts you don’t think are really there. You care. When it counts, you care.”

 

“Stop saying sexy.” She bristles, pink-cheeked and skeptical. “It sounds wrong coming from your mouth.”

 

“Hush.” He glares. “I’m glad I got the chance to see you. The real you.”

 

“How could you -”

 

Another glare from him silences her and she huffs, crossing her arms and looking sullen. He hides a smile. “I don’t want you to hide from me anymore.”

 

“I’m not hiding, I’m -”

 

“River,” he says gently, sternly. She wavers. He watches her look away and bite her lip, wanting nothing more than to reach out and take her hand but not wanting to be rebuffed yet again. “We’ve got twenty-four years together and I want to spend it with you. The real you.”

 

“I -” She stares at him warily, half hope and half cynicism. “Really?”

 

He nods, smiling. “Please. Let me see you.”

 

She surges forward like he’s said the magic words and when their mouths meet, she gives in with a reckless abandon he hasn’t felt from her since her youth. She kisses him like she’s been waiting their whole lives for permission to be herself. It makes his chest ache but he tastes no resentment in her mouth, only relief. Only gratitude. Only love. He tries with everything in him to return it all, to scoop out his hearts and offer them to her. Somehow, even without words, he must succeed because this time, when he tries to touch her, River lets him.


	63. your body is a wonder, i'll use my hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Twelve thinks of his first time with River as Eleven during/after making love to her for the first time in his new body.
> 
> Story title from Your Body Is A Wonderland by John Mayer.

She leads him to bed after dinner, her hand gentle and sure in his but her teeth scraping his throat as she undoes his tie with her mouth. He feels like a lost soul being led to the afterlife by a very fetching Persephone. Terrified and eager and filled with want, he takes a little longer to remember how to use his hands but River is patient with him in a way he imagines she would find difficult with anyone else. So he stops waiting to wake up from all of this and starts yanking at her dress with shaking hands, determined to break in this body with the only one he could ever imagine touching him.

 

River laughs softly against his ear, guiding his fingers to the zipper at the back. “There you are,” she whispers. “I’d begun to think I’d taken Baby Face to bed instead of a grownup.”

 

“Shh,” he mutters, his fingertips following the dip of her spine as her dress slips away. “I’m thinking.”

 

“Still looks weird.” She threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him down for a kiss. Her mouth is hungry and familiar and it’s exactly like setting a match to gasoline. Fires the Doctor had long since put out after she left come roaring back to life and his knees buckle with the heat of it. He tightens his grip around his wife and together they tumble into bed.

 

River still wears her heels but he hasn’t the time or the inclination to remove them. He quite likes the sight of her in them and nothing else anyway – apparently River in heels is a kink he has carried over from the last regeneration. She’d worn them during their first time together and his poor hearts had been a trifle fainter than they are now. He’d been a quivering pup and River had delighted in rendering him so.

 

Not this time.

 

This time, the Doctor pins her beneath him with a growled order for her not to move and River bites her lip, curious enough about what he might do to actually obey. He takes his time, relearning all the places that make her gasp and lick her lips. He remembers that in his last body, all he had to do was brush his fingertips over the back of her knees to make her quake but in this body, he learns that a vicious bite to her inner thigh will make her beg. His thumbs teasing her nipples had made her cheeks flush before but now he learns that if he sucks at them hard enough, he can get her to curse in ancient tongues.

 

The Doctor had enjoyed their lovemaking before, though at times he’d been rather shy about admitting it, but making love to River in this body is an entirely new experience. Like rediscovering the art of sex all over again. Unless River wound him up for hours first, he was always rather inhibited before. He’d blushed and fumbled and spent quite a lot of time gazing at River like she was a succubus come to steal his soul. River had always been the dominant one, the one to coax him out of his shell and make him scream.

 

It feels right to be the domineering one now. He likes pinning her hands above her head and listening to her plead with him _if you don’t touch me right now, darling, I’m going to break your neck with my thighs_. He chuckles into her stomach and dips his fingers back into the slick folds of her sex, eyes glimmering as he watches her back arch completely off the mattress.

 

He likes burying his face between her breasts and working his hand between her legs, murmuring utter filth into her sweat-slicked skin until River threatens him with a new regeneration if he doesn’t _get his Scottish mouth on hers and his fucking cock inside her right this moment_. He’d have blushed before. He laughs now, grinning into the slick, filthy heat of her searing kiss. It quickly morphs into a groan when she wraps her small, demanding little hand around his length and guides it roughly between her legs.

 

He swears against her throat and lifts his hips, sinking into her and relishing River’s long, drawn out moans as she wriggles her hips and adjusts to his new girth. He hasn’t been inside her in centuries but it feels like coming home. She’s warm and wet and the feel of her wrapped tight around him makes his eyes sting.

 

Home. He’s home.

 

Gallifrey has nothing on River Song. She’s beautiful, her curls a tangled mess on her pillow and her honey skin flushed with arousal. Before, the sight of her would have made him want to flee, like his hands were too unclean to touch her. Now, he lifts himself up over her and promises himself he’ll write a song about the way the starlight makes the sweat on her skin glisten.

 

Half of his mind is already composing lyrics as he begins to move, slow, thick thrusts that burn all through him. _Ring of fire_ , he thinks, gritting his teeth. But no, someone has already written that. It fits her. Perhaps he’ll go back and write it in her honor. He’ll write all of them – every single love song in the universe should be about her, his tender assassin.

 

River sinks her nails into his shoulder blades and digs the lethal heels of her shoes into his arse, the sinful roll of her hips urging him along. He won’t be rushed, however. They’ve got twenty-four years and he’s sure there will be quick fucks along the way but right now, he’s learning just as much about himself as he is about her.

 

He likes it a bit rougher now, he muses, listening to the obscene slap of skin on skin as he moves within her. He likes the way River very nearly keens when his abdomen rubs her clit with every other stroke. He likes gripping her curls in his hand and pulling just hard enough to make her gasp and kiss him. He likes that when he’s inside her, her kisses are less focused and less designed to bring him to his knees. They’re messy and hot and tell him that despite this older body, he’s still entirely capable of reducing River Song to a quivering wreck of a woman.

 

He runs his fingers along the length of her thigh, hitching her leg higher around his hip and pushing her a little farther up the bed. River clings to him, her eyes half-lidded and dazed, struggling to keep them open and focused on him. She looks at him like he’s a dream, like he can’t possibly be the same man she’d married all those years ago. With her, he feels like he isn’t. His last self was afraid of her, in awe of her, turned on by her. His last self had worshipped her. This body just loves her.

 

River holds him in her arms like she can tell the difference. “Sweetie,” she cries, and tightens mercilessly around him. “Darling, honey -” Pet names fall from her tongue like curses, like benedictions. The Doctor turns his head and kisses her, swallowing them all.

 

When he comes, her hands are in his hair and her lips are against his ear, whispering in Gallifreyan so tender and filthy that the council would have ostracized her for defiling something sacred. It only makes his cries harder to bite back and he sinks his teeth into the soft swell of her breast to contain himself, his hips jerking wildly against her. River follows him into bliss with no such qualms about keeping quiet. She climaxes with a shout so filled with ecstasy that for a moment he believes the pitch of it will bring down the stars on top of them. He can certainly see them behind his eyes as he collapses into her warm, pliable curves and gasps for air.

 

River keeps her shaking fingers curled into his hair, her whole body trembling beautifully against him. Chest heaving, the Doctor feels a grin inching slowly across his face, inordinately smug as he lifts his head and gazes down at her. “Well?” He lifts an eyebrow. “What’s the verdict?”

 

Tongue caught between her teeth, River laughs and cups the back of his neck, guiding his mouth to hers for a kiss she’s still too breathless to maintain for long. “Oh, twelve out of eleven,” she murmurs, beaming up at him. “Would definitely do again.”


	64. little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got two separate requests, one for their first night on Darillium and one for their last night, so I decided to combine them. 
> 
> Story title from Here Comes the Sun because I’m an asshole.

 

He always woke before her and despite the centuries that have passed since the last time they shared a bed, this morning – night, whatever the bloody hell it is on this planet of darkness – is no different. The Doctor keeps his eyes closed for a moment, cataloguing the feel of his wife curled against him. He luxuriates in the feel of her bare skin, the smell of her perfume, the wild curls of her hair tickling his cheek.

 

A frown twitches at his mouth and he has to work hard to convince himself he isn’t dreaming. A quick peek at her when he opens his eyes confirms it. She’s really here. The frown dissolves into a grin that borders on embarrassing. He’s glad she isn’t awake to see it – she’d be a smug terror.

 

Shifting beneath the thin sheet covering them, the Doctor turns on his side and begins the very important business of staring at his wife. She’s splayed across the bed like she bloody well owns it, her hair an entity unto itself. She sleeps with the same vivacity in which she lives her life – taking up space with an unapologetic little grin, secrets tucked into the corners of her mouth. He wonders idly what she’s dreaming of but he doesn’t try to dip inside her mind. He tries to imagine it instead, raking his eyes over her softened features and hoping she’s dreaming of him, of all the time they have ahead of them.

 

Unable to resist a moment more, he reaches out and strokes his fingertips along the length of her arm. River stirs, her brow furrowing in her sleep, and the Doctor feels the thrill of anticipation in his gut as her eyes begin to flutter. He feels like a little boy on Christmas morning, waiting to open his present. And in so many ways, that’s exactly what she is. The very best Christmas present he’s ever gotten – a gift from the universe as compensation for the pain and loss and death that he meets at every turn.

 

It was worth every moment to wake to this.

 

He watches her eyes open and narrow, the way her lithe muscles tense as she catalogues her surroundings. The moment she realizes where she is, she relaxes and melts into him again, a soft smile curling her lovely mouth. The Doctor hides his own grin in his pillow, watching her stretch lazily. “Good morning, wife.”

 

River purrs, turning to slip her leg between his and crowd his space as much as possible. If she were anyone else, he would have fallen off the bed in his haste to get away from such intimacy but it’s River and he crowds her right back, slipping his arms around her and cradling her to him. Her curls tickle his nose and her misbehaving, clever hands are already beginning to wander.

 

“Good morning, darling,” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep and _other_ things. “What shall we do today?”

 

He shivers, smiling against her temple. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

 

-

 

Their last night on Darillium, the Doctor doesn’t sleep.

 

After River falls into an exhausted slumber, grinning tearfully into her pillow and nearly glowing with the frantic tenderness of their lovemaking, he passes the night watching her sleep. They’re almost out of time, almost at the end of their happily ever after, and there is nothing that could convince him to shut his eyes and miss its last, dying gasp.

 

Twenty-four years had passed in the blink of an eye but oh how they had filled those years. Every single second of it was perfect, even when they grew restless and fought, even when River slapped him and stole his TARDIS for three hours. She’d come back contrite and refusing to admit it, stroking his cheek and kissing him instead. He’d cherished that argument and all the ones that followed. He’d savored every laugh, every caress, every roll of her eyes.

 

He has stored up a wealth of memories to warm him in her absence but it still isn’t enough. When it comes to River Song, he knows nothing ever will be. He would glut himself on her like a starving child in a candy store if only the universe would allow it, but it’s always ever so eager to snatch her away again.

 

Now it’s nearly over and he’s a little boy struggling to stay awake on Christmas, just to make the day last a wee bit longer. So he holds River while she slumbers beside him and does his best to commit it all to memory. The way she crinkles her nose and snuffles, curling into him like a trusting child. The way she barely moves when she sleeps but somehow still manages to make a right mess of her hair anyway.

 

When his eyes begin to sting and water, when his hearts begin to twist with the unfairness of it all instead of the gratitude he knows should be his for having stolen such precious time, he distracts himself by sketching her. This body doesn’t have the artistic talent of his last but he manages a passable likeness. He doesn’t want to forget that little curl falling across her pillow-creased cheek.

 

Fingers still smudged with charcoal, he checks the screwdriver on their bedside table as he has done every night this week, like a man with a compulsive disorder. It’s in perfect working order, with a full reading of River’s consciousness. Of course it has. It’s had twenty-four years to memorize her. Plenty of time for a screwdriver, but not nearly enough for the man who loves her.

 

Swallowing back bitterness, the Doctor nestles further into the warmth of their blankets as the stars begin to disappear and the sky lightens with approaching day. River hums softly in her sleep and wraps herself around him, like she can already feel him slipping away. He returns the embrace, stroking his fingertips up her spine and the back of her neck, inching them into her hair. His lips brush her forehead and along the bridge of her nose, rousing her with lingering kisses.

 

He feels her smile against his cheek, still half dreaming and happy. And then he feels her muscles tense and tighten the moment she realizes exactly what day it is. Their last. Her mouth trembles then and her fingertips press into his skin hard enough to bruise, and he loves that – loves the idea of carrying her mark around with him for weeks after she leaves him.

 

“My love,” she whispers, blinking her eyes open to peer at him. He forces a smile for her and she does the same, cupping his face in her hands. “What a night that was.”

 

Outside their bedroom window, daylight dawns.


	65. to know the place for the first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Twelve leaves Darillium to prepare a surprise. When River wakes up alone, she thinks the worst.

 

It’s been nearly a year but waking beside the Doctor every morning hasn’t become old hat just yet. She feels like a newlywed all over again, utterly in love with the way he clings to her in his sleep and snuffles into her hair. She loves his sleepy Scottish grumblings and the way he can’t quite hide his smile fast enough when he wakes to her teeth nibbling his ear. She loves his sleep-mussed gray hair and she _really_ loves mussing it up herself with a lovely morning tumble, or rather whatever passes for morning on a planet so dark.

 

Without opening her eyes, River smiles into her pillow and reaches a hand across the bed. He’s too far away and she knows he prefers clinging to her like a damned octopus when he sleeps – she rather loves that this particular characteristic has carried over from the last regeneration. When her hand meets empty space beside her, River frowns. She peers blearily across the bed and stares at the rumpled sheets where the Doctor should be.

 

“Doctor?” Realizing his side of the bed is cold, she sits up and pushes her curls out of her face. “Sweetie?”

 

She expects to hear his muffled curses from the kitchen as he makes tea or the thump of a book as he sets it aside to come back to bed. Instead, she’s met with only silence. With a regretful sigh, she abandons the warm nest of blankets and slips from bed, reaching for her knickers on the floor. Her clothes are in the wardrobe but the Doctor’s hoodie is closer, draped carelessly over the back of an armchair. She slips it on and pads from the room. As she goes, she notices the Doctor’s slippers on his side of the bed and his dressing gown hanging from the back of their bedroom door.

 

Curiouser and curiouser.

 

The sleeves of his hoodie fall over her hands and River brings one dangling end up to cover her mouth as she yawns. “Darling,” she grumbles, wandering into the kitchen. “That was an entirely unacceptable way to wake up. We’ve talked about the proper way to start the morning and all of them involve you naked in bed -”

 

Met with more silence, she scrubs the sleeve of his hoodie over her face and drops her hand. The kitchen has clearly been untouched by him – it looks far too tidy. There isn’t an empty mug in the sink or even a half full one he’d made himself and got too distracted to finish. He hadn’t even made _her_ any tea, the sod.

 

“No tea and no husband makes for a very unhappy girl,” she mutters, turning on her heel and heading for their shared study.

 

The little house didn’t have much room but they’d decided to convert the extra bedroom into a space to get away and have some time alone. River likes to use the room to write and to conduct her research but the Doctor tends to slip away with a book or a box of spare parts he wants to use to invent something almost certainly useless but admittedly entertaining. More often than not, they end up hiding away in the room together and entirely defeating the purpose of having it at all.

 

It’s been a rather lovely surprise, to find that they enjoy spending so much linear time together. She’d been certain at the start that they’d be at one another’s throats within a week. So far, the only contact she’s had with the Doctor’s throat has been with her teeth.

 

Pushing open the ajar study door, River peers inside and huffs to find it empty. Honestly, she can’t even leave him unsupervised overnight without him wandering off. “Must be in the garden then,” she decides, and leaves the study to head for the back door.

 

Rather adorably, the Doctor has begun take up gardening. He sometimes spends hours mucking about in the dirt and River hasn’t been able to resist pointing out the similarities, asking him with a teasing smirk if he’d like to use her trowel. He’d glowered, chucked a packet of seeds at her, and insisted with a Scottish growl that it was entirely different. He was growing things, he’d said. Beautiful things and edible things – not digging up useless dusty people no one even remembered.

 

Rolling her eyes just thinking about it, River slips out into the back garden and expects to find the Doctor kneeling over a row of vegetables and glaring them into submission. Instead, she finds the garden the same as she had found their bed and the kitchen and the study – empty. And that’s when she realizes the spot near the back gate where the TARDIS usually sits is also without an occupant.

 

Feeling her hearts sink into her stomach, River makes her way slowly across the garden and comes to a stop right where the TARDIS should be, holding out a hand to the empty space. Maybe he’s put the outer shell on invisible, she reasons. When her hand meets nothing but air, she blinks quickly and turns away.

 

He must have gone out for something. They do that occasionally but always together. And if they happen to pop out alone for take out off planet, they always leave a note. She must have just missed it, that’s all. River marches back into the house and checks the kitchen table, the refrigerator, and the bathroom mirror for some sort of message. Nothing.

 

She wanders back into their bedroom and breathes a sigh of relief to find a bright blue sticky note on the bedside table. Of course he left a note. Of course he did. Silently scolding herself for being ready to work up to a proper panic so easily, River snatches the note up and scans it.

 

_Sorry dear, I’ll make it up to you._

_XX_

 

She stares at the message for a long moment, unable to process it. He’s… gone. Just like that. He had slipped out of bed, stolen away in his TARDIS, and hadn’t bothered with an explanation. Only _sorry dear_. River feels her eyes sting and huffs, crumpling the note in her fist. Typical.

 

She’d been ridiculous to think he wouldn’t get bored. It’s been nearly a year of linear time, for god’s sake. He was probably chomping at the bit to get away. River stares at the note in her hand and pictures their quiet afternoons in the study, their breakfasts in bed, the colorful garden in the back of the house. She remembers the bottles of wine they’ve shared, the kisses both chaste and passionate, how they’ve danced under the stars, and it all feels just a little _less_ now that she knows the Doctor was probably counting the seconds until he could make his escape from domestic hell.

 

It isn’t as though they never went off to find trouble when the itch for adventure became too much for them to bear but for the most part, they’ve tried to live like a proper married couple. Well, as properly as two people like River and the Doctor could manage. They knew – both of them – that it would be their last years spent together as husband and wife. They’d wanted to make a proper go of it. Well, she’d thought they did.

 

Slowly, River sinks onto the edge of the bed – his side of the bed – and wonders if she should pack her things and bugger off before he gets back. If he comes back. She hardly wants him to find her waiting like some pining, lovesick idiot. She scoffs, biting her lip. She’d known it was far too good to be true, all that time alone together. She’s suddenly quite grateful she’d ignored the Doctor’s terribly unsubtle suggestions about using the spare room as a nursery instead of a study – _just a thought_ , he’d muttered at her gaping stare, shrugging and going back to planting his pumpkin seeds.

 

Just as well she hadn’t taken him seriously. She’d hardly be willing to do _that_ alone.

 

River shuts her eyes and breathes in, struggling to get a hold of herself. She has a bag to pack and a means of transport to acquire to get off this bloody planet as soon as possible. But the moment she inhales, she can smell him. She opens her eyes, certain he must be standing right in front of her. He isn’t, of course.

 

Realizing she’s still wearing his hoodie, she sighs shakily and brings the sleeve of it up to cover her nose and mouth. The scent of him washes over her instantly. His cologne and brandy and that smell she usually associates with brand new books – the little thrill that shoots up her spine and makes a smile tug at her mouth because she’s about to learn something new. River buries her face in the sleeve of his hoodie and very determinedly does not cry. It would be ungrateful and childish to do so. Nearly a year together is far more than she’d ever had before. It isn’t twenty-four years but it’s certainly better than nothing at all.

 

“You’ve stolen my clothes again.”

 

She gasps, dropping her hand and scrambling to sit up. The Doctor stands in the doorway, grinning at her. His last self had always grumbled when she stole his shirts but this version of him seems to take great delight at seeing her in his things. River isn’t in the mood for that mad grin of his. She glares, watching the jovial expression slip right off his face. “How long were you gone? I’m surprised you didn’t come back with a new body.”

 

He blinks at her. “It was only a few hours. Why?” His brows knit together and he suddenly looks a little panicked. “Was it longer for you? Damn, I buggered it up, didn’t I? Hang on, I’ll just pop back and -”

 

“ _Stop_.”

 

He freezes, watching her uncertainly. “River, what is it? What’s wrong?”

 

“What’s -” She laughs shortly and he flinches. “You know, I always thought you were the bravest man I’d ever known but I was wrong. A brave man would have had the courage to just bloody well say _sorry but I can’t handle all this togetherness anymore but thanks for all the sex_ instead of writing it in a sodding note!”

 

The Doctor gapes at her and River growls, tossing the wadded up note at his head. He catches it quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles and reading it with a furrowed brow. His eyes widen and he looks up at her, shaking his head frantically. “No, no – that’s not – _where’s the rest of it_?” When she simply stares at him in bewilderment, the Doctor utters a soft “fuck” and drops to his knees, scrambling around on the floor like some sort of madman.

 

River watches him, frozen with hope when he remerges from beneath the bed with another sticky note. He places it on top of the first and hands it back to her, watching intently as she reads it again. The first note begins: _Gone to fetch a surprise, back soon. Didn’t want to wake you – you’d only distract me_. _Minx_. River swallows, shuffling to the second note. _Sorry dear, I’ll make it up to you. XX_

 

For a moment, she simply stares at both pieces of paper and fights back the urge to blush. God, she’s an emotional idiot. Far too much time spent around him indoors. Slowly raising her head to find the Doctor watching her patiently, she whispers, “Oh.”

 

Blue eyes soft and fathomless, the Doctor says, “You thought I’d gone.”

 

River glares, suddenly furious. “What was I supposed to think?” She shoves the notes at his chest and bats his hands away from her. “You useless sod, can’t you bloody write smaller or -”

 

He surges up from his knees, cradles the back of her neck in his hands, and kisses her. His lips are smiling and soft and utterly determined to render her breathless. He kisses her and kisses her and he doesn’t stop until he has her pinned beneath him on their bed, River dizzy and subdued beneath him. She blinks up at him when he pulls away, her mouth pleasantly swollen and her eyes welling.

 

The Doctor tucks a curl behind her ear and sighs, frowning. “Get something through your stubborn head – difficult I know, I’m sure the hair must get in the way – I am _not_ leaving.” River bites her lip and he nuzzles his nose against her cheek, grumbling, “Buggering hell, River, the only thing that could drag me away is time itself. And even then I’ll go kicking and screaming.”

 

Melting into the mattress beneath her, River nods once and offers him a tentative, beaming smile. “Mutual, darling.”

 

“Good.” He huffs, tutting as he peers down at her. “Such hard work, you are.”

 

She kicks at his ankle and he breaks into a grin, swooping in to steal another kiss. River lets him for only a moment before she pushes him away, her hearts light again and her smile stubbornly refusing to let up. The Doctor ducks his head, nipping at her throat. She purrs, carding her fingers through his gray hair. “What was this about a surprise?”

 

“Later,” he mutters, tugging impatiently at the hoodie she wears. “I’m not done reassuring you.”

 

Laughing, River lets him continue with the sound reasoning that _this_ should have been how their morning started anyway.


	66. "what am i supposed to do with that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> "What am I supposed to do with that?"
> 
> "Wear it, apparently."
> 
> "Over your dead body."

River stares at the monstrosity the Doctor holds up before her. His eyes dance with excitement, like he’s done something worthy of a sainthood. It’s probably supposed to be a piece of clothing, maybe even a dress. It has straps and a hem and a plunging neckline that resembles the way a dress might look but it’s billowing and wide and for the life of her she can’t locate the waistline of the bloody thing. It could be a tent just as well as a dress.

 

She raises a disdainful eyebrow from her sprawl across the sofa in the TARDIS library, a book balanced on her stomach. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

 

Glancing between the dress/tent and her, the Doctor furrows his brow. “I…um…wear it. Apparently.”

 

Definitely a dress then. River snorts and returns her attention to her book, as good a dismissal as any. “Over your dead body, sweetie.”

 

He drops his arms, the dress hanging at his side now as he visibly pouts at her. “But River -”

 

“Don’t you _River_ me,” she snaps, glowering at him over the top of her book. “That thing is appalling.”

 

“It’s your size!” His eyes widen and he trips over his feet as he takes a step backward. “No, wait! I meant to say it might be your size. Later. Much later. Because right now you’re small. So small.” He gulps. “Seriously, turn sideways I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

 

“Oh just say it!” River tosses aside her book – aiming for him. The Doctor ducks and the book thumps against the wall behind him. “I’m _bulging_.” She crosses her arms over her chest and snaps, “You hardly need to rub it in!”

 

He squeaks. “You’re not – I’m not -”

 

“This is your fault, anyway! The least you could do is be a bit more sensitive.”

 

The Doctor stares at her. “It is _not_ my fault!”

 

“You’re not serious. _This_ -” She gestures to her stomach and he flinches. “Is much more your fault than mine.”

 

He scratches his chin and adjusts his bowtie, looking smug. “Well, technically dear, it takes two to -” At her pointed glare, his eyes widen and he stops fidgeting to nod once in earnest. “No, sorry. You’re right.” His gaze drifts down to her stomach and he starts smiling like a besotted idiot. “Totally my fault.”

 

River huffs, pursing her lips against an answering grin. “Stop that.”

 

He lifts his eyes innocently. “Stop what?”

 

“Smiling. You’re happy – you’re not allowed to be happy.” She sniffs. “You bought me a _tent_.”

 

“What? It’s not -” The Doctor lifts the dress again, studying it. River cringes and looks away as he hums thoughtfully. “I suppose it is a bit… tent-y.”

 

She snorts. “Sweetie, you could seek shelter from a rainstorm underneath it.”

 

With a sigh, the Doctor tosses the dress over his shoulder and it joins River’s discarded book. The black hole of a dress swallows the book entirely and River wonders faintly if she’ll ever find it again. “I’m just trying to help, you know.” Sulking, the Doctor sinks onto the other end of the sofa and River promptly settles her feet in his lap. “You said your clothes were getting too tight.”

 

As he wraps his long fingers around her ankle and strokes with his thumb, River shuts her eyes and presses a hand to her swelling stomach. The baby reacts to the contact by nudging his foot against her palm and there is no disguising her smile now. It stretches across her face until she thinks she probably looks as ridiculous as the Doctor but it’s impossible to stop.

 

“They are getting too tight,” she admits, and when she opens her eyes the Doctor is watching her intently. His gaze is soft and glowing and she wonders how something so small, something that isn’t even here yet, can reduce two weary, battle-hardened creatures to such total saps. “That hardly means I want to jump right into a bloody month nine maternity dress. Baby steps, honey.”

 

“Baby steps,” he repeats, as though committing it to memory. “Right. Should I have started with knickers?”

 

River smiles sweetly. “Not if you want to live long enough to meet your son.”

 

She hadn’t realized it was possible to look both terrified and elated all at once but the Doctor manages the expression admirably and has been since they discovered they’d actually managed to procreate. “Socks?” He ventures hopefully, eyeing her through his fringe. “Everybody likes socks, River. Even pregnant women in tents.”

 

River kicks him. Under her palm, their baby kicks too.


	67. all your attempts to escape cease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleeping mornings on Darillium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title from the quote “Home is not where you were born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease.”

Sometimes she wakes up and thinks this will be it – the day he finally leaves. She’s so used to her manic, restless Doctor that it always takes her a moment to convince herself it’s different now. She turns on her side and stares at him sleeping beside her, his arm slung over her waist and his face buried in his pillow, tufts of gray hair sticking out at odd angles. His brows furrow like he can’t control them even in sleep and River stifles a smile.

 

“Stop it.”

 

She blinks. “Stop what?”

 

“Staring,” he grumbles into his pillow, arm tightening around her waist. “Bloody disruptive to a Time Lord’s sleep.”

 

She snorts, closing her eyes when she feels his fingertips tap a playful rhythm against the small of her back. He’s tetchy but content, not at all restless. He isn’t leaving, not today and not tomorrow. Not for a while. She turns her face into his chest, letting him press a sleepy kiss to the top of her head, and reminds herself once again that the Doctor has done all of this before. He’d never been running from a home and a family, always from the lack of it. He’d run from the fear that if he sat still, all that he’d lost would catch up and choke him.

 

“This Time Lord never needed so much sleep before.”

 

“Well it’s night – what else am I supposed to do?”

 

She strokes a fingertip along his ribs, smirking when he squirms. “I can think of a few things.”

 

“So can I.” He nips at her ear, his voice still a sleepy grumble. “Insatiable, incorrigible -”

 

River shudders, humming softly. “Sweet nothings this early in the day?”

 

He sighs, finally blinking open his eyes to peer at her. River smiles at him, batting her lashes. His lips twitch before he can stifle it and she watches in fascination as his gaze softens and his eyes crinkle. His younger face had been so easy to read, so open and adoring. This one is older and wearier and constantly irritated even when he isn’t but then he looks at her and it all melts away. He looks young again, the besotted sweetie she’d married. She’ll never stop feeling smug for being capable of reducing this tetchy Scottish incarnation to such a state.

 

“You’re thinking very loudly,” he observes, and his palm sweeps up her back and presses her closer. She doesn’t resist, her ear against his chest to listen to the beat of his hearts. They’re steady and strong but she doesn’t miss the way they pick up speed for a moment after she hooks a leg around his hip and settles snugly against him. She bites back her amusement and the Doctor huffs, stirring the curls against her forehead.

 

“I do lots of things loudly, darling,” she says, affecting a purr. “Want to hear?”

 

Unfazed, the Doctor merely taps disapprovingly at the dip of her spine and says, “Later.”

 

She pouts half-heartedly, too content to mind. Quiet days used to be so rare for them and domesticity had never suited either of them. Things feel so different now. When they’re cocooned here in their room on Darillium, she never wants to get out of bed, never wants to leave his arms. “Pity. We were off to such a good start.”

 

“Hush,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers into her hair.

 

Her eyes flutter shut as his fingertips massage her scalp. With her ear still against his chest, his voice is a low rumble when he begins to hum. It’s a lullaby, maybe one he’d heard as a child. Perhaps even one he had whispered to his own children. The thought makes her ache and River clutches him without thought, fingers biting into his skin. The Doctor shushes her soothingly and she relaxes her grip at once, breathing out through her nose.

 

“Doctor –"

 

“Sleep,” he orders gently, tucking her head beneath his chin. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

 

She frowns against his neck, too drowsy to stop the uncertainty from slipping into her voice when she demands tiredly, “Promise.”

 

“Of course I promise.” He huffs, still stroking her curls patiently. “Where would I go, River? I’m home.”


	68. kiss on the nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kiss on the nose, 12/River

Despite his chosen title, the Doctor has never had a particularly helpful bedside manner. Restless, impatient, and at times downright manic, he’s hardly anyone’s idea of a reliable nursemaid. And yet, standing in the kitchen of a little house on Darillium with his wife huddled on the sofa in the next room with a box of tissues and a case of the sniffles, he very much wants to try.

 

Tapping his fingers against the counter, the Doctor listens to River sneeze and glares at the toaster in a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to make the damn bread pop up. River insists she isn’t hungry but he’s been watching her consume nothing but tea all morning and if she doesn’t eat something soon he’ll not be held responsible for his actions.

 

He’s too old to fret over River Song and her bloody stubbornness. She’s been giving his hearts palpitations since birth and she hasn’t slowed down since – jumping off buildings and waving a gun in the face of the high chancellor of Althrace, strutting about her university in denim cutoffs and squeezing his bum right in front of her parents. And now this.

 

“No respect,” he grumbles to himself, narrowing his eyes at the toaster. “Not a wit.”

 

River’s voice, congested and weary but clearly amused, startles him from his staring contest with a kitchen appliance. “Are you talking to yourself?”

 

He straightens, whirling around to frown at the doorway. He can’t see her from here but he can picture her perfectly – wrapped in blankets and laughing at him. “Of course I am. No bloody choice – I’m the only one with any sense in this house.” At her snort of derisive laughter – broken by another sneezing fit – he scowls. “Shut it and drink your tea.”

 

Behind him, the toast finally pops up and he turns from the doorway to busy himself with buttering each slice and dropping them onto a plate. On his way out of the kitchen, he scoops up an orange in hopes of coercing his stubborn wife into eating a few slices of that too.

 

When he steps into the living room, River is just where he left her – which in itself is cause for worry. Once, she had three cracked ribs and a broken ankle and he still caught her trying to crawl out of the TARDIS sick bay. Now, she’s just curled under a mountain of blankets on the sofa and watching him approach with sleepy eyes. Tissues litter the floor around her and a stack of books rests on the coffee table – a selection of her favorites that he’d gathered for her to entertain herself.

 

Groaning when she sees the plate he carries, his wife – scourge of the universe and the star of every Sontaran nightmare – protests in the tone of a petulant child, “I said I’m _not_ hungry.”

 

His mouth twitches despite his annoyance. When she’s properly sick, River can rival even him in grumpiness. “And I ignored you,” he says, shoving the plate at her and glowering until she takes it. “Eat something.”

 

Her eyes, clouded with sickness, narrow. “Or what?”

 

“Or I’ll start wearing celery on my lapel again.”

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

He arches an eyebrow. “Try me.”

 

With a growl, River takes a vicious bite of her toast and chews with such voracity he can’t help but wonder if she’s imagining it’s him. Not that he minds, so long as she eats.

 

With a pat on the head, he smirks and mutters, “Good girl.”

 

“Sod off,” she mumbles around a mouthful.

 

Biting back a grin, the Doctor dodges her swatting hand to check her for fever, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead, then her cheek. River bites back a sigh and sits still until he’s satisfied, dropping his hand from her face with a nod.

 

“Happy?”

 

She holds up her plate – a half eaten slice of toast and a fourth of an orange still left. It isn’t ideal but he’d been fully prepared for her to throw the entire plate at his head so he nods and sets it aside. Hands empty, he hovers beside the sofa and wonders what to do next until River huffs and sneaks a hand out from beneath her blankets to latch onto his wrist and yank him forward.

 

He tumbles rather gracelessly onto the sofa beside her and River throws her blankets over him, curling up on his lap as though he’s just another pillow. The Doctor relaxes into the cushions with a sigh and wraps his arms around her, letting her burrow into his chest for warmth.

 

Sniffling into a tissue, she moans, “I feel rubbish.”

 

She’s never actually admitted it before. He has seen River bleeding out in the middle of a war zone and declare she’s had worse paper cuts. He tightens his grip around her and grumbles, “What did you expect after skinny dipping in the bloody frozen tundra?”

 

She bristles. “I had to.”

 

The Doctor leans back just enough to give her a reproachful stare.

 

River lifts her chin, unapologetic.

 

He sighs. “One day, you’ll be able to turn down a dare.”

 

Her eyes widen in dismay. “Is that a spoiler?”

 

“No.” He grins when she visibly wilts in relief, unable to resist ducking his head and dropping a kiss to her red nose. “Alas, just an old man’s pipe dream.”

 

“Idiot.” River snuggles into his arms and drops her head to his shoulder, biting back a smile. “It’s just a cold, you know. I’ve had worse.”

 

He hums in agreement, tapping his fingertips anxiously against her knee. “Yes, but you’ve usually made a few attempts to escape by now.”

 

She laughs softly and he frowns when he hears a certain raspiness that makes him fear she’ll be complaining of a sore throat amongst everything else soon enough. He makes a mental note to feed her a chicken broth for dinner. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I haven’t tried to entice you into another adventure yet?”

 

The Doctor frowns into the curls piled on top of her head and doesn’t reply.

 

River sighs and murmurs, “Silly old Time Lord. Where else would a girl want to go with a nurse like you?” With that, she mimics his earlier gesture and leans up, pressing a fond kiss to the tip of his nose.


	69. angry kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Angry kiss, River/Ten

Afterward, he wouldn’t be able to recall what they were arguing about. Professor Song had a way of infuriating him with a flick of her hair. She’d say something smug and arrogant and remind him so much of himself that he’d grit his teeth and feel this little ball of anger and exasperation and terror swell in his chest until he couldn’t breathe and he’d retort with more bite than the situation warranted. River’s eyes would flash and her whole frame would stiffen and before he could tell if it was fury or heartache that made her mouth tremble, they were shouting at each other and he’d forget all about feeling guilty.

 

He doesn’t know much about River Song – well, _yet_ – but he knows that she’s absolutely enthralling when she’s angry. Her wild hair quivers and her stubborn jaw clenches. Those catlike eyes of hers narrow and spark and draw him in. Even spitting angry, he takes a step toward her.

 

River lashes out, her hand aiming for his cheek. The Doctor catches her wrist, his fingertips biting into her skin. The moment he touches her, their eyes meet and he loses all sense of reason. He tugs on her wrist but River doesn’t stumble – she steps into him willingly.

 

Their mouths clash violently, a silent continuation of their disagreement punctuated only by River’s quiet moan when he grips her hips and hauls her against him. And _oh Gallifrey_ , the woman is composed entirely of warmth and lush curves. She tastes like gun powder and red skies and the metallic tang of blood. Kissing River Song is a bit like going to war.

 

She melts into his lanky frame, one hand fisted in his tie and the other sliding into his hair and gripping tight. The Doctor smirks against her lips. “Everyone loves the hair,” he mumbles between furious kisses.

 

“Shut up,” River hisses, and her nails dig into his scalp.

 

He groans, sinking his teeth into her lower lip, and shuts up. There are better things to be doing anyway.


	70. jealous kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jealous kiss, River/Eleven

No matter how much the Doctor wishes, a lifetime of brainwashing cannot be eradicated overnight. He knows from previous encounters that eventually River will overcome every deadly impulse Kovarian planted like a seed in her mind. She’ll have her bad days, of course, but she’ll prevail. She’ll be strong and resilient and totally in control. Brilliant.

 

When River is young, however, it doesn’t take much to set her off. From the look of her – slightly wild eyes, feral stance, clenched jaw – she’s still in her first year of University. Which means she’s irrational and quick to anger, with a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. Unfortunately for his wide-eyed companion cowering under the aim of her pistol, River is very, _very_ young at the moment.

 

“Now River,” he ventures, licking his lips nervously.

 

She twitches and he stops instantly, holding his breath. “Don’t you _now River_ me, Doctor.” He winces at the barely contained rage that makes her voice wobble. She doesn’t even blink, her gaze trained on his companion. “She was in our bedroom -”

 

“I got lost!” His companion insists, and the Doctor wishes he could tell her that speaking isn’t a very good idea right now. He’s rather fond of her and he would prefer she didn’t lose an appendage. “I didn’t know -”

 

River cocks her head, eyes narrowing, and his companion falls quiet. “You didn’t know what? That I would ever find out?”

 

Biting back a sigh, the Doctor takes a step toward her. “Dear, stop this. You’re not going to shoot my companion.”

 

She frowns, like a petulant child being told _no_. “I could.”

 

His mouth twitches but he stifles it, knowing his amusement would only enrage her further. “But you won’t. Because you know she’s just a companion. Human. A child, really.” He winks at her. “Tell me you know me better than that, Song.”

 

Her grip tightens around her pistol and she swallows thickly. “Promise me no one sleeps in here but us.”

 

It would be easy to say it quickly, to scoff and say _yes of course_. To dismiss her fears as those of a territorial psychopath rather than an abandoned little girl who is never quite sure of what belongs to her because nothing ever has before. His companion is still sprawled on the floor, gaping at them, but the Doctor keeps his attention fixed on River. He lifts a cautious hand and when she only watches him uncertainly, he touches her cheek. The stroke of his fingertips over her skin sweeps away some of the madness and when his touch lingers, he sees clarity returning to her clouded eyes.

 

He smiles softly. “I promise.”

 

Her pistol drops to the floor with a clatter and before the Doctor can so much as breathe a sigh of relief, River is in his arms. Hands clenched tight in his hair and her mouth crashing against his, she holds him to her and kisses him like she can brand him. She uses too much teeth and he can taste the possessiveness on her tongue but he doesn’t fight her, flailing only a moment before he gives in and lets her take what she needs.

 

When she pulls away, she’s his River again. Flushed and breathless, she licks her lips and smirks at him. “All right, sweetie. I believe you.” She pats his bum, smile widening when he jumps. “Now, let’s go somewhere exciting, shall we?” Without a backward glance, she strides from their bedroom and heads in the direction of the control room.

 

Still breathing hard, the Doctor stares after her and nibbles at the new cut on his lip from her teeth until he remembers his companion still prostrate on the floor. “So,” he says, forcing a bright grin and straightening his bowtie. “That was the wife. Told you she was fun.”

 

His companion glares.


	71. we can never be together kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: We can never be together kiss, River/Six.
> 
> I based it around the Big Finish audio.

“Who are you, River Song?”

 

Oh, if she had a penny for every time he had asked – would ask – that question. River smiles up at her young husband and when he sways toward her, she allows herself the forbidden and touches his cheek. “Look at me,” she says, searching out his eyes. “Properly.”

 

He does, staring intently at her face and still not really seeing what he should. He’s far too young to understand yet. There’s a certain glimmer in his eyes as he squints at her, however, that tells her he isn’t as clueless as she might have hoped. “You remind me of someone, a long time ago,” he muses quietly, leaning into her touch as he studies her. “A noble brow. Clear gaze. A firm mouth. A face beaming with vast -”

 

“Shh.” River feels her lips curve into a smile. Of course he would see himself in her. They are bespoke, after all. “Let’s get back to the mouth.” She grips his colorful coat in her hands and leans up on her toes, her hearts swelling with adoration when he eagerly meets her halfway when she murmurs, “Shut up and kiss me.”

 

The Doctor’s previous regenerations are always drawn to her somehow – even if she infuriates him he can’t stay away. Some of them even enjoy flirting with her, which is always a lovely surprise when he’s so young. She had never expected this level of infatuation, especially from this particular Doctor. From what she knows in her own research and an older Doctor’s stories, this version of him is stubborn and melodramatic and absolutely uninterested in all things romantic.

 

And yet here he stands, cradling her against his broad chest and giggling against her mouth when she cards her fingers through his curly blonde hair. To have a Doctor so young and yet so clearly smitten in her arms is a thrill she never could have imagined and she looks forward to teasing him greatly once she reminds him in the future.

 

It will take him quite a while to remember – an unfortunate side effect of the lipstick she’s wearing. The same lipstick the Doctor is currently ingesting more of with every eager brush of his lips against hers. A pity, really. She rather adores this version of him, with his warmth and passion and the surprising sweetness he seems to carry just for her.

 

He breathes raggedly into her hair, tender fingertips gripping her hips as he whispers, “Great Gallifrey, you taste like candy floss and time. Delightful.”

 

Chuckling softly, River traces an absent pattern against his patchwork coat – hideous but not enough to keep her from wishing she had enough time to strip him out of it. “Oh honey,” she sighs, stifling a purr when he pets her curls. “I’m going to miss this you. You certainly know how to woo a girl.”

 

“You could stay,” he ventures hesitantly, his fingertips tangled in her hair. His voice is beginning to slur with the effects of her lipstick but he sounds just hopeful enough to melt her hearts. “Travel with me.”

 

“One day, my love.” She smiles, allowing herself to linger just a moment longer as she nuzzles into the hollow of his throat and shuts her eyes. “Until then, we’ll always have our dreams.”


	72. drunken kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Drunken kiss, River/Eleven

Despite the fact that she was kidnapped and taken into the past to grow up alongside her parents, River wouldn’t exactly call her relationship with them a close one. Hell, depending on where they are in their timeline it can be awkward and strained and downright uncomfortable. It gets better, of course, the older they get. Enough that she isn’t afraid to show up for dinner with a bottle of wine, knowing she’ll be met with smiles. It isn’t exactly normal but if she closes her eyes and holds her breath, it’s almost nice.

 

That being said, her mother never calls just to chat. When Amy Pond picks up the phone and decides to call her daughter, it’s usually about two things – _‘you’re late for your father’s birthday party/Mother’s Day/Christmas, young lady’_ or _‘the Doctor is about to get himself killed and you should probably be here to slap some sense into him’_.

 

When River hangs up the phone and follows the coordinates her mother had breathlessly rattled off, she expects to land in the middle of a Christmas dinner or an alien tribe roasting a trussed up Doctor over a spit. The last thing she expects to find is her husband running around the control room giggling while Rory chases after him with a firm, “Give me the drink, Doctor.”

 

River blinks, watching them in silence. They haven’t noticed her yet but Amy, hovering on the edge of the room with a scowl, wilts with relief at the sight of her. Throwing herself across the distance between them, she latches onto River and hugs her tightly.

 

Patting her shoulder, River stares at the Doctor sliding around in his socks and mutters absently, “Nice to see you too, Mum.”

 

“Ugh, I’m so glad you’re here.” Amy grips her shoulders as she pulls away, her fingers digging into River’s skin. “I thought I’d seen him at his worst but _this_ , River -” She shudders, letting go to wrap her arms around herself. “He’s - he’s -”

 

“Drunk,” River supplies, raising an eyebrow. “How on earth did you manage that?”

 

“It was an accident,” Amy wails pitifully. “Trust him to find the one drink on the menu that tasted like candy. He didn’t even know what it was. By the time Rory and I got back from the dance floor, he’d had ten!”

 

Across the control room, Rory had finally lost his patience. “Doctor,” he snaps, using his best _I used to carry a sword_ voice. “Stop running before you hurt yourself. And give me that drink. Now.”

 

The Doctor juts out his chin. “Nope.” Apparently feeling rebellious, he sips from his glass and meets Rory’s gaze with a glare. Mumbling around his bright pink straw, he says, “S’good.”

 

Rory glowers but when Amy clears her throat pointedly, he glances her way and catches sight of River. He grins in relief and turns back to the Doctor. “If you don’t behave, I’m going to call River.”

 

The Doctor falters, the straw slipping from his mouth. He straightens as best as he can and offers Rory a suspicious glance. “You wouldn’t.”

 

“He would.”

 

River steps forward and the Doctor finally sees her. His eyes widen and his grip on his drink loosens just enough for Rory to finally snatch it from him but he doesn’t even appear to notice. His whole face lights up and he positively beams at her. Instead of the pout she had been expecting, he shouts _Rivah!_ gleefully and bounds up to her like an overexcited pup.

 

He trips, of course, and stumbles right into her. River steadies him with the sort of ease that comes with familiarity, one hand falling to his bicep and the other to his bony hip. “Falling for me, sweetie?”

 

It’s a terrible line but usually anything will make him blush. She can never resist. To her complete fascination, that lovely shade of pink that always stains his cheeks at the slightest innuendo doesn’t appear. He just grins down at her, clumsy fingers gripping her dress. “Constantly.”

 

River hides a smile, listening to Rory grumble behind them. Balanced regained, the Doctor still doesn’t move away. Instead he stays alarmingly close for a man who usually tries to act the innocent virgin when her parents are in the room. He seems to have forgotten about them entirely, dipping his head to nuzzle his nose briefly against her cheek before pressing his lips against the corner of her mouth in a warm, enthusiastic and slightly messy kiss.

 

Despite her parents lurking behind them, River leans into him and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, keeping him close to study his face. Flushed cheeks, wide and glittering eyes, goofy grin. And wandering hands he’s currently using to pet her hair. All the usual signs her husband has indulged in a simple flute of champagne. She can’t imagine what a nightmare he’s been for her parents after ten drinks.

 

“Oh sweetie,” she sighs. “What were you thinking?”

 

“It tasted like candy floss.” He beams at her, his eyes widening. “Remember that time I took you to that intergalactic fair? We shared a whole bag and when we got stuck at the top of the ferris wheel you tasted like -”

 

“Yes, sweetie,” she interrupts, pressing her fingertips against his mouth. “I remember.”

 

He falls quiet but he keeps his besotted gaze fixed on her – even his eyes are smiling. “Good day?”

 

She nods, softening. Her thumb traces over his bottom lip and she murmurs in agreement, “Very good day.”

 

“S’why I drank it.” He resumes petting her hair, swaying toward her and making an adorably content noise in the back of his throat. “Missed you. And your space hair.”

 

Somewhere over his shoulder, Amy snorts but the Doctor doesn’t notice.

 

“I love this hair,” he mutters quietly, almost as if to himself. River risks a peek at him, still biting her lip in amusement, and finds him staring with adoration at one of her curls. “It bounces. Everything about you bounces, did you know? Your hair. The hem of your dress when you walk. Your -” He waves a shy, eager hand at her chest and his fingertips brush her breast. “When we’re, you know -”

 

“ _Doctor_.”

 

River bites back a wave of laughter as the Doctor jumps, whirling to stare at her mortified father. The Doctor peers at him with a frown and scolds, “Honestly, Rory. Can’t you knock first?”

 

Rory drops his head into his hands in apparent despair and Amy pats his shoulder, sharing a smirk with River. “Maybe he should rest. Somewhere out of earshot.”

 

“Good idea.” River winks and takes the Doctor by the hand, tugging him along. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you into bed.”

 

Wide grin returning at once and the Ponds seemingly forgotten again, the Doctor stumbles hurriedly after her. “By me, you really mean us don’t you, dear?”

 

Threading her arm through his, River guides him toward the stairs. “Yes, sweetie.”

 

“Oh, good.” He sighs in relief, following dutifully behind her. “Did I mention I missed you?”

 

This time, she doesn’t try to fight down the ridiculous grin such affection provokes. Maybe she should get him drunk more often. “You did.”

 

They reach the top of the stairs and start off down the corridor but River can still feel the equally amused and horrified eyes of her parents on them as they make their way out of sight. “River, can we use the water bed?” The Doctor’s head falls to her shoulder and his hand slips from her waist to squeeze her bum. “It makes you _extra_ bouncy.”

 

Behind her, River hears her father groan.


	73. giggly kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Giggly kiss, River/Eleven

The Doctor’s wife is not a woman who likes to show weakness. He blames it on her upbringing and whenever he thinks about Madame Kovarian punishing her for every tear, every whimper, every sign of beautiful humanity, he has to physically restrain himself from marching into his TARDIS and doing something he’ll regret.

 

Mercifully, and to his absolute delight, there is one weakness that River can’t hide from him no matter how she might try. He’d discovered it once by accident and he was so giddy and River so horrified that he’d had to make a new rule for himself. Rule #37: Don’t tickle River unless absolutely necessary.

 

It works best that way, not only for his own safety but because he finds that the less he uses it, the better it works when he does. Lest his secret weapon lose its effectiveness, the Doctor utilizes the discovery with extreme caution – always keeping it in his back pocket for emergencies.

 

Wandering along the echoing corridors of the vast palace of Versailles and peering hopefully into each and every doorway, he wonders if accidentally taking River to Madame De Pompadour’s birthday party on their anniversary counts as an emergency. As he searches empty rooms for his furious wife, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach, he begins to think that yes, it certainly does.

 

Slowing to a stop at the last door in yet another endless corridor the Doctor peers into the room and silently resigns himself to walking back to the TARDIS and hoping River hadn't scarpered in it without him.

 

Thankfully, when his eyes sweep over the room, he spots River standing at a window, glaring out at the grounds with her back to him and her arms crossed over her chest. The relief he feels at finding her quickly fades when he realizes this isn’t just any room. It’s Madame De Pompadour’s private quarters. Cringing, the Doctor shuts his eyes for a moment and thinks about slinking away.

 

“She’s not here.” When he opens his eyes, River’s reflection in the window is looking right at him. At his puzzled glance, she clarifies, “Reinette. I assume that’s why you’re in her bedchamber. Looking to reminisce, sweetie?”

 

The Doctor bites his tongue against a retort. He knows better than anyone how petty River can be when she’s jealous. Another part of her upbringing he wishes he could change – behind all the bravado is a little girl repeatedly told she wasn’t quite good enough. Not for her parents, not for the Doctor, not even for the Silence.

 

Sighing patiently, he pushes away from the doorframe and steps cautiously into the room. “No,” he says, keeping his voice soft and even. “I was looking for you.” He wisely doesn’t mention that Reinette wouldn’t recognize him anyway with his new face. Somehow, he doubts such a comment would help his situation. “You left in a bit of a hurry.”

 

After she slapped him and stalked off. His ears are still ringing.

 

River shrugs. “Forgive me if I didn’t want to attend your ex’s birthday celebration on our anniversary. I’m a patient woman, honey, but not even I can be expected to endure that particular humiliation.”

 

“It was an accident.” The Doctor huffs, tugging at his fringe. “And she’s not an ex, she’s just -”

 

Her reflection arches a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Just a woman you visited in her childhood and made fall in love with you before you swanned off again. I’m beginning to think it’s how you treat all the girls. And here I thought I was special.”

 

The teasing tone she does her best to inject into her voice does nothing to hide a lifetime of insecurity and the Doctor frowns at her, finally closing the remaining distance between them. River still doesn’t turn around but he steps up behind her until she stiffens and he can feel the heat of her back against his chest. Nose brushing her curls, he says, “You are.”

 

River snorts softly. “Oh?”

 

Ever conscious that he’s taking his life into his own hands, the Doctor wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her against him. River remains stiff and unyielding but she doesn’t push him away. She lifts her chin and sets her jaw, her eyes falling shut. The Doctor rests his chin on her shoulder, keeping her close.

 

“I didn’t just swan off,” he says into her ear. “Not with you. I came back. And I’ll keep coming back as long as you’ll have me. I will _never_ keep you waiting for me, River Song. That’s the difference.” Watching her lips curl into a reluctant smile, the Doctor presses a smacking kiss beneath her ear and River squirms in his arms. “All right?”

 

She hums in agreement and finally leans back against his chest, letting him hold her. He knows her too well, however, and the tension still in her frame is unmistakable. He supposes he deserves it. He’d still be a bit miffed if he happened to be in her shoes. The thought of one of Mels’ exes ruining their anniversary is enough to set his teeth on edge and he doesn’t even have the hostile background River does.

 

There’s really only one thing for it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

River sighs. “You don’t have to apologize, sweetie. It was an accident -”

 

He shakes his head. “No, not about that.”

 

“Then what -” His fingertips slide up her waist and River’s eyes snap open, staring at his smirk in the reflection of the window. “Doctor, don’t you dare -”

 

“Sorry River, but you’ve left me with no choice.”

 

He attacks and she shrieks, twisting away from him and ducking out of his arms. The Doctor follows, his fingers sliding over her ribs and tickling her sides, mercilessly seeking out her weak spots and taking advantage of them. River’s laughter rings in his ears as he pursues her across the room, blocking her every attempt to escape his grasp.

 

He chases her around the apartment, arms outstretched and hands always touching her. River struggles valiantly, knocking over expensive perfumes and vases, trampling an expensive dress left lying on the floor, and kicking up the plush rug beneath their feet. When threatened, she’s an absolute force of nature. She tears a set of drapes, smacks him with a pillowcase and sends feathers flying, and even spills an inkwell all over the thick carpet. All the while, she never stops laughing.

 

By the time they tumble onto the massive bed in Reinette’s chambers, the entire apartment is a disaster. River curls into a ball, tears of mirth slipping from her eyes. She’s red-faced and breathless and miles away from the distant woman standing at the window with her arms around herself. Whatever the damage to the royal bedchambers, it had been worth it.

 

River swats at him weakly, gasping, “Sweetie, please -”

 

He relents, hovering over her on the bed, his nose touching hers as he studies her. River lays sprawled out beneath him, her chest heaving and her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with laughter and a giggle still on her lips. There's a feather from one of the pillows caught in her curls. His hearts thrill at the sight of her and the Doctor is helpless but to lean in and kiss her soundly.

 

To his relief, River returns the kiss without hesitation. She’s still laughing and he catches every giggle with his mouth, sliding his hand over her stomach to feel her muscles tremble and quake. “Idiot,” she declares him when they part.

 

The Doctor grins, nudging his nose against hers. “Yeah,” he agrees loftily, meeting her gaze. “But just yours.”

 

Gratified to see the last bit of insecurity fade from her sparkling eyes, the Doctor leans in again and she’s still smiling when he kisses her. As far as secret weapons go, it’s certainly his favorite.


	74. kiss on the back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kiss on the back, River/Eleven

It isn’t unusual to wake alone on the TARDIS, though she knows the Doctor tries to stay as long as he can. Once, she had woken in the middle of the night and found him stretched out beside her, nose against her cheek and hand hovering over her head as he muttered aloud to himself - in the process of meticulously counting each and every curl on her head. He’d scared the hell out of her, looming over her like that, and nearly gotten a knife to the gut for his trouble. She can’t blame him for choosing to wander off and wait for her to wake up instead. Or at least check under her pillow for weapons before he risks waking her.

Even when he wanders, he doesn’t go far, often retreating to a chair in the corner of their bedroom to read.This time, however, the chair is empty. River yawns and stretches, listening to the faint sound of the Doctor’s voice echoing along the corridor. Talking to the Old Girl again. Smiling to herself, she slips out of bed and takes the sheet with her, wrapping it around her body and padding barefoot out of their room.

“Come on, it must be in here somewhere…”

 

River slows to a stop at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing to admire the view below. The Doctor stands at the controls, flipping agitatedly through the pages of his diary. He’s barefoot and bare-chested, his braces hanging carelessly by his hips. He’s the definition of unkempt and River licks her lips, watching the way his hair keeps falling into his eyes. She follows the movement of his slender fingers as he shoves his fringe out of his face, a low growl in his throat that does girlish fluttering things to her insides.

 

Oh, that man. He has no idea how delicious he is.

 

The TARDIS hums in an effort to convey just amusing she finds River’s ridiculous crush on her husband. River pats the stair railing and murmurs, “Oh hush.”

 

Apparently under the impression that it’s him his ship is talking to, the Doctor mutters, “I just want to take River to her favorite restaurant on Chimeria – you know, the one where they use spider orchids as garnishes – but I can’t remember the name.” He sighs. “Because I’m old and thick.”

                                                                                                     

“It’s called Caladenia.”

 

The Doctor jumps, whirling around. The moment he spots her standing at the top of the stairs, he huffs and shakes a finger at her. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

 

Smirking, River wraps the sheet tighter around her middle and descends the stairs to join him. “You should know by now, my love. I’m never surprised.”

 

“One day,” he promises, and taps her on the nose.

 

He turns before River can swat at him, scribbling the name of the restaurant into the margin of a page in his diary. Drawn as ever to all that gorgeously smooth skin, River presses herself against his back. He’s warm to the touch and she hears him hum contentedly when she drags her mouth along his spine. Encouraged, she scrapes her teeth over a freckle.

 

“River,” he protests, whinging. She peers over his shoulder and finds his hand frozen over his diary, his fingers white-knuckled around his pen. “We’re going to dinner.”

 

“Of course, sweetie,” she agrees, and kisses his shoulder blade. She traces her path to the opposite shoulder with her tongue, planting another kiss when she reaches her destination.

 

The Doctor shudders. “Stop that,” he says, his voice unusually high. “I’m hungry.”

 

Biting back a grin, River presses her lips to the back of his neck. “Me too.”

 

A soft sigh escapes his mouth and she feels all of his exasperation and protest going with it. He’s putty in her hands now, or rather, beneath her mouth. Hands braced against the console and head bowed, fringe falling into his eyes once again, the Doctor is the very picture of submission.

 

“Beautiful,” she whispers, and when her lips brush his skin again, he trembles.

 

“That’s my line,” he protests weakly, his voice strangled.

 

“Not tonight, honey.” River nuzzles her cheek against his back, feeling his warm skin against hers. She wraps her arm around his waist, sliding her hand teasingly over the tent in his trousers. The Doctor draws in a sharp breath, hips jerking into her touch. River draws away, smirking when he whines. “Unless of course you’d still like to go out.”

 

The Doctor shudders, taking a moment to gather himself before he speaks. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with desire. “I’m starting to see the merit of staying in.”

 

Smiling serenely, River nips at his shoulder. “You know what that isn’t, Doctor?”

 

He straightens, turning in her arms to face her. Eyes dark enough to make her swoon, he asks, “What?”

 

River leans up on her toes, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “A surprise.”


	75. nose boop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/Twelve nose boop

She thought she would miss him more.

 

This new version of the Doctor rarely ever reminds her of his younger self, far too different from her bow-tie wearing husband in nearly every way, but much to her guilty surprise, in all the best ways. He never lies to her now, never ignores the signs that something has upset her just to save himself the awkwardness of having to comfort her. He apologizes; and not with grand gestures in the hopes of sweeping everything under the rug, but with words. With warm hands and even warmer kisses. This new Doctor is all grown up – confrontational and foul-mouthed and with eyebrows that have their very own personality.

 

River fancies him something mad.

 

Still, every now and then, she’s painfully reminded that he may look different and sometimes even act different but he still has the same idiot mouth. “Utter rubbish,” he grumbles to himself, rifling through the pages of Darillium’s local newspaper. “Why did I bring us to a planet so bloody boring?”

 

She flinches in spite of her best efforts to conceal the twinge such a careless question causes. The Doctor sees the expression flicker across her face because he sees everything these days, and River watches as his own expression falls in accordance, as if his emotions are connected to hers by a little cord.

 

She affects a careless smirk and tilts her head, letting her curls brush her shoulder. “No need to pout, honey. You’re free to leave any time you like, you know.”

 

He drops the newspaper, flinging it aside carelessly, and scrubs a hand over his face and through his hair. Her mouth twitches against her will, watching all that mad gray hair stand up on end.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” he says quietly, patiently. Despite the Doctor’s best attempts to put on the facade of a grumpy old man, he smiles far too often these days and his eyes soften every time he looks at her. She relishes teasing him that he’s getting soft in his old age. “Come here. What are you doing so damned far away anyway?”

 

He reaches for her hand and tugs her from the other end of the sofa until she’s snug against his side and his every exhale stirs the curls on top of her head. She rests her head on his shoulder, pressing her cheek against the soft cotton of his hoodie, and feels the Doctor’s fingertips slips up her back and into her hair.

 

“I’m not bored,” he says, keeping her close. “But in case domestic bliss and my dashing albeit overwhelming presence has dazzled your wits, your favorite pastimes include taunting Sontarans, diving headfirst off skyscrapers, and using Dalek eyestalks to play mini golf. Forgive me for wishing I’d settled somewhere with a bit more excitement for my bad girl.”

 

“A fair point, but you’re forgetting something, darling. I married _you_ – the man who could find trouble in an empty paper bag.” She pats his chest when he grumbles. “You’re more than enough excitement for me.”

 

Smiling, the Doctor turns his head and brushes his lips across her temple. “And you for me, my wee bespoke wife.”

 

She looks up at her silver-haired Doctor, gazing adoringly down at her, and for just a moment, she can almost see her young husband grinning back at her. “Was it always true?”

 

The Doctor blinks at her. “Was what always true?”

 

River swallows and resists the very real urge to look away and change the subject. “Was I always enough excitement for you?”

 

“More than I could handle,” is his instant reply. His grin wavers when he doesn’t receive the slap to the chest he expects. Sobering, he grasps her hand in his and squeezes, searching out her gaze. His eyes are soft and patient, his accent slightly thickened in his sincerity. “You were always enough, dear.”

 

Horrifyingly, River feels her eyes begin to sting. “Then why -”

 

“Youth,” he says, and though he attempts a shrug she can hear the regret curling around his every word. “And I was scared to death of losing you. Thought if I kept you at arms length, it wouldn’t hurt so much when I did.”

 

Reluctantly, River lifts her eyes from his throat and meets his gaze. “And now?”

 

“I’m still afraid,” he whispers, and she wonders if she’ll ever get used to the way he offers up the truth so readily in this body. “But I’m older now and with age comes wisdom.”

 

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, forcing lightness into her voice. “And what have you learned, Doctor?”

 

The Doctor doesn’t take the bait, his blue eyes solemn as he searches her face. “If I don’t hold on with everything I’ve got, _I’ll regret it_.”

 

River swallows thickly, hating the way even her quiet sigh wobbles with unshed tears. “Well,” she breathes, caught in his gaze. “I don’t think you’ve changed quite as much as you think, sweetie.” Lips curling into a faint smile, she confides softly, “You’re still a sentimental idiot.”

 

“Ah, but you still like it.”

His slender fingertip trails lovingly down the bridge of her nose and taps on the end of it. She swats at his hand exasperatedly but the gesture is so achingly familiar. She’s reminded instantly of his last regeneration – the way he looked at her when she was being clever, the way he’d get tongue-tied when she wore a pretty dress, the way he’d blush when she winked at him.

For the first time in months, River thinks of her younger husband and smiles. 


	76. piggyback ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/Twelve piggyback ride

Still slightly out of breath from his recent harrowing escape from gunfire and a furious maître de, the Doctor stalks along the quiet, lamp-lit Darillium street with a scowl fixed on his face and his hands in the middle of reverting to a previous regeneration’s tendency to flail. “Are you happy now? You ruined a perfectly respectable evening.”

 

River snorts derisively, halting in the middle of the street to inspect her impossibly high heel. “An evening with you is never respectable, honey. And how was I to know the Sontarans were _actually_ on a hen night this time?”

 

He huffs. “That isn’t the point. And don’t you dare give me attitude, River Song. Attitude is _my_ thing.”

 

“Of course, darling,” she says, in that absent-minded way that lets him know she isn’t actually listening to a word he’s saying and he might as well be scolding a wall for all the good it’ll do.

 

The Doctor sighs, slowing his steps and turning to wait for her. While he wasn’t looking, River had taken off her shoe and he stares unblinkingly at the sight of her balancing perfectly on one high-heeled foot. Sometimes he forgets that he married a highly trained assassin and then she goes and does something so innocently River and he remembers he should probably be a bit terrified of her.

 

“River, dear,” he says patiently, tapping his foot. “I’m trying to have a row with you, if you’ll indulge me.”

 

“Normally I’d be happy to, my love, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.” She holds up the broken heel of her red stiletto and pouts becomingly. “A girl can’t be expected to focus on her fella when she’s ruined her favorite pair of shoes. Rain check?”

 

Shoulders slouching and mouth already curling into a traitorous smile, the Doctor agrees far too quickly. “Rain check.” He walks up to his wife and takes the broken shoe from her hand, tucking it into his pocket to repair later. Turning his back to her, he says, “Hop on then.”

 

River muffles a bout of laughter between her fingertips and when he glances questioningly over his shoulder, she’s watching him with sparkling eyes. “Darling, I know you used to carry me in your last body but don’t you think this one is a bit too…”

 

He raises an eyebrow at her, indignation already curling around his hearts. “A bit too what?”

 

She wrinkles her nose in that adorable, terribly unfair way of hers and finishes delicately, “Mature?”

 

The first thing that comes to mind is his younger self, easily lifting River off her feet and carrying her to the TARDIS giggling. He thinks of _Ramone_ , with his broad shoulders and broad grin and his _stubble_. Both men strong and brimming with energy and fully capable of carrying River in their annoyingly youthful arms. Sod that.

 

Eyes narrowing, the Doctor draws himself up to full height and stares down his nose at her. “My wife is not going to walk anywhere barefoot while I’ve got two legs to carry her. Now get the hell on my back before you piss me off.”

 

River purses her lips, her eyes still bright with laughter. “Yes, sweetie.”

 

With a harrumph, the Doctor turns around again and stoops just enough for River to hike up the skirt of her dress and hop onto his back. Her legs wrap around his waist and her small hands cling to his shoulders, her curls tickling the back of his neck. Once he’s certain she’s holding on, he straightens with a silent prayer that he isn’t about to prove her right.

 

To his relief, his legs stay steady beneath him. _Take that, Ramone_. And then River presses her mouth against the shell of his ear and he silently wonders about the wisdom of the decision to have her so near when heat trickles up his spine and makes his limbs go numb and tingly. She makes him a damned teenager all over again.

 

Humming low and throaty against his ear, she murmurs, “I do love it when you go all strict and protective. It’s sexy.”

 

His mouth goes dry but the Doctor licks his lips and drops a hand to squeeze her knee. “Wait till we get home,” he growls. “You’re due for a spanking.”

 

River stills, her grip on his shoulders tightening briefly before her fingers go lax and she leans her weight into his back again. “You know just how to treat a girl,” she teases, but he hears the forced levity in her voice.

 

“Don’t.” He frowns. “Talk to me.”

 

“It’s nothing, darling,” she whispers, brushing her lips soothingly across the back of his neck. “Just… you said _home_.”

 

“Oh.” He swallows. “Sorry. I -”

 

“Silly man.” She tightens her legs around his waist, her chin on his shoulder, and to his relief he can hear the smile in her voice. “I like it.”

 

The Doctor thinks of their little house just down the street; their cozy bedroom and the garden where they like to stargaze; the porch swing where River drinks a glass of wine and listens to him read aloud. He thinks of the life he never thought would be his again – handholding and dinner and carrying his barefoot wife under the street lamps of their quiet little neighborhood. Home.

 

He smiles. “Me too.”


	77. vaster than empires and more slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the series 10 finale. Title from His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell.

By the time he finally allows the new him – or her, he isn’t picky so long as the next one is finally bloody ginger – to come through, his regeneration has been building for months. Once he gives in and lets go, it’s over fairly quickly.

 

He hates regeneration. No matter how many times he does it, it never gets easier. The itch under his skin. The burning in his bones. Every cell in his body turning itself inside out. The sickening feeling of everything he is being erased, thrown out to make room for new habits, new mannerisms, new sense of fashion and tea preferences. All those years being this him, finally all grown up and settled in his own skin, getting his hair to settle just right and getting his throat not to close up when he tries to talk about his wife, and it’s all gone in a blaze of light.

 

Or at least, it should be.

 

There’s a bright light, certainly, but when he opens his eyes, everything is the same. His hands are the same and when he tugs his hair over his eyes, it’s still gray and fluffy. He runs his tongue over his teeth experimentally – same old choppers. “What in the sodding -” He stops, oddly giddy to find his voice still very Scottish. He’d been hoping to keep the accent but he’d been rather resigned to losing everything else.

 

It seems the only thing he’s actually lost is his sense of direction. He’d regenerated in the snow – alone but surrounded by the memory of all those he’d loved best – and now he’s standing on a green lawn, squinting in the sunlight. Everything is quiet and peaceful and warm. _Where in the hell is he?_

 

“See how that eyebrow goes up when he’s thinking? Used to do that when he was a wee girl.”

 

He stiffens, his eyes widening and his hands clenching at his sides. He knows that voice – it belongs to his oldest friend and dearest enemy. The one who had abandoned him when he’d needed her beside him most.

 

“Hush dear,” comes another soft, achingly familiar voice. He feels his throat tighten. “Penny in the air…”

 

Knees quivering, the Doctor turns slowly towards the two voices – voices that can’t possibly be together in the same place. One of them is dead and the other had scarpered in a TARDIS with herself. Impossibly, his stinging eyes land on them anyway – sitting amiably together at a little table beneath a shade tree, holding china teacups in the palms of their hands as they watch him with identical smirks.

 

“You-” He stares at them, speechless, and feels his fingernails breaking the skin of his palms. “I don’t – how…”

 

Missy stifles a slightly mad giggle in a sip of tea. “Oh the Hair was right. This _is_ fun.”

 

Shaking her head, River – his darling wife – purses her lips and rises silently to her feet, closing the distance between them all at once far too quickly and not nearly fast enough. She’s dressed in white and her long hair is ginger. The peace and serenity in her old eyes tells him exactly where she recently spent the last twenty-four years. His breath catches, his eyes well up, and _oh_ , Nardole would love to see him now – so many emotions.

 

“River?” He rasps, holding out a shaking hand. He doesn’t dare touch her for fear of shattering whatever perfect fantasy his mind has conjured but River has no such qualms, lacing her fingers through his and swaying eagerly toward him. Her hand is warm and solid in his, her palm calloused from gripping a gun, gripping a trowel, gripping both of his hearts in her wee capable hands. He swallows. “Am I dead?”

 

River smiles, wide and beautiful. She tips her face up toward his, her half-lidded green eyes glittering with mirth and promise. Behind them, Missy checks her reflection in a spoon and steals the last biscuit from River’s plate but his wife is right in front of him, her fingers brushing his cheek as she leans in and kisses him sweetly.

 

Adrift but trusting her to keep him afloat, the Doctor grips her hand and responds helplessly, delving into her mouth and tasting tea and honey and books until River pulls away and brushes her nose tenderly against his. “My darling Doctor,” she murmurs, and he trembles with longing. “Did that feel dead to you?”

 

A slow smile begins to stretch across his face. He has questions – a whole sodding lot of them, as a matter of fact – but something tells him there’ll be time for that later. He takes in River’s bright eyes and tremulous grin and knows that for once, there is world enough and time.

 

“Oh and the penny drops. Finally – like watching paint dry.” Over River’s shoulder, Missy meets his gaze with a tentative, pained smile – filled with all the things yet to be said – and dangles an empty cup between her fingers with a hopeful, “Tea?”

 

Clinging to River’s hand, the Doctor lets his wife tug him in the direction of his old friend and a hot cuppa. For the first time in a long while, there is only one thing he needs. “Six sugars, please.”


	78. every piece of me loves every piece of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPACE WIVES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t wait! I’m sorry. I likely won’t write anything else for them until after Thirteen starts airing and I’ve gotten a feel for the character but I just needed to write something to celebrate because I’m SO excited.

She picks up the discarded velvet coat from the foot of the bed, draping it around her shoulders and smiling faintly when she catches a whiff of tea and biscuits still clinging to the fabric. Burying her nose in the collar, River curls her legs up beneath her and reclines against the pillows, listening to the Doctor rummage through the wardrobe.

“Why are bras so sodding complicated?”

“Because, darling, you’ve only had experience taking them off and not putting them on.” Feeling a lump in the pocket of the coat, River frowns and reaches inside, pulling out a package of crisps. She huffs, smiling fondly. That man and his snacks. “Would you like some help?”

A delicate snort is her reply. “As you said, dear, I want it on - not off.”

“Suit yourself,” River murmurs, and opens the crisps, popping one into her mouth.

A beat of silence and then, “Are you eating?”

River grimaces, attempting to hide the crisps beneath a pillow. “No.”

A blonde head pokes out of the wardrobe and big, green eyes narrow at her. River swallows a mouthful of crisps and crosses her legs, doing her best not to stare at all the smooth, pale skin currently on display. The Doctor is always sexy but _god_ is she pretty this go round. “I’m having the biggest wardrobe crisis of my bloody life and you’re _eating_?”

“They were in your coat,” River points out defensively, shifting on the bed to make room for the Doctor and crumpling the bag of crisps in the process. “It isn’t my fault you had a sweets fixation last time.”

Still frowning, the Doctor emerges entirely from the wardrobe dressed in nothing but a pair of knickers and a utilitarian sports bra she’d borrowed from River. With the dramatic flair the Doctor seems to carry from one body to the next, she throws herself onto the bed and immediately curls around River with a gusty sigh. “How d'you manage it?”

River arches a brow, reaching out without thought to sift her fingers through the Doctor’s new blonde hair. “Manage what?”

“Finding anything decent to wear,” she bemoans. “There aren’t any pockets, River! Where the bloody hell am I supposed to put the sonic if I don’t have pockets?”

“Well -”

“If you make that into a filthy joke, so help me River Song -”

Smirking, River mimes zipping her lips shut and resumes petting her hair again. The Doctor nudges into her gentle fingers like a neglected cat. “Are you planning to go starkers then? Not that I’d complain, of course.”

The Doctor peers through her fringe, eyeing River hopefully. “No?”

The uncertainty in her voice makes River simultaneously melt and want to slap her. For some reason, she seems to be under the impression that she might not be wanted or accepted in quite the same way now. Of course, the Doctor is always a little unsure after regeneration - always craves love and acceptance first thing. River very much plans to shower her wife with everything she needs - and soon.

“Definitely not,” she purrs, scooting down the bed until they’re face to face. Her hands wander the moment the Doctor is in reach, sliding her fingers over her slender arms and down her flat belly. Flirting teasingly with the waistband of her cotton knickers. “Though I’m not quite sure I approve of sharing the view with anyone else.”

The Doctor beams at her, relief softening her eyes. “You’ve always been the possessive sort.”

River ducks her head, sucking a warm, wet kiss just beneath her ear. The Doctor inhales sharply, fingers wrapping around River’s hair and clutching curls in her fists. Fingertips still tickling just above her knickers, River breathes, “And you’ve always liked it.”

Squirming with want, the Doctor nods unevenly and lifts her head. Her eyes are shut and her cheeks are flushed but she searches out and finds River’s mouth with her own with ease. It’s a languid kiss, slow and searching as River learns the Doctor’s new mouth and the Doctor learns the mechanics of kissing all over again. She’s a quick study, thankfully, and has River on her back and clutching the bedspread within moments.

She pulls away far too soon, her hair falling into River’s face as she peers down at her and asks, “What do you think?”

River blinks slowly, thoroughly snogged and struggling to remember what could possibly be more important than getting to know the Doctor’s new feminine physique. “Of what?”

“Pockets, obviously.” The Doctor frowns and River barely controls the urge to roll her eyes, her head dropping back onto the pillow. The body may change but the Doctor is still very much the Doctor - totally incapable of focusing at the worst possible time. “I need pockets, River. And a bra that doesn’t feel like a 12th century torture device.”

She rolls away and yanks the smashed crisp bag from beneath a pillow, popping one into her mouth. Her face contorts into disgust almost instantly and River holds in a sigh as she leans over the side of the bed and spits out a mouthful of crisps onto the floor.

“My god,” she says, raising her head back up and tossing the crisps across the room. “Will the Scottish eat _anything_?”

River curls around the Doctor as she settles once more, still sticking out her tongue and grimacing. “I’ll take you shopping,” she says, as though they’d never been interrupted. “You know how I like to play dress up.”

“More like dress _down_ ,” the Doctor mutters, forgetting about her traumatic crisp experience just long enough to look terribly pleased at her own wit. “Oh, and can I borrow your lipstick? Missy always made it look so enticing but she never let me try hers.”

“We’ll get you your own.” River kisses her shoulder, hiding a smile at the Doctor’s pout. “Or you can use mine.”

The Doctor scowls, shaking her head stubbornly - noble and far too goody-two-shoes, as always. “No hallucinogenic lipstick, River Song. I may be a woman now but I’m not going in for all that snogging rubbish again. I finally grew out of it in my last body and I’ve no intention of going back.”

River lifts an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Adorably, the Doctor flushes. “Well, I may have an exception in mind.”

Grinning, River presses her Doctor into the mattress and leans in to kiss the taste of crisps from her new lips, nose brushing hers tenderly. “You’d better.”


	79. my words will be your light, to carry you to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Christmas Special: Twice Upon A Time
> 
> Story title from Winter Song by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles.

_“Doctor, I let you go.”  
_

There is a peace that comes with death that no one will ever know quite like a Time Lord. The Doctor is not a religious man but he considers it a sort of baptism, a washing away of his previous self’s sins that allows him to emerge from the light of regeneration as a new being, unencumbered by all of his old nonsense.

A clean, fresh slate.

It’s with that hope that he gives himself over to the new him – or her – waiting just beneath the surface. May his next self be kinder and braver and always, always wary of pears. He leaves with his eyes wide open as his world becomes awash in golden light, ready to begin again. And again and again.

The bright light of regeneration fades and when the Doctor blinks, he finds himself staring at a bright, cloudless sky of brilliant blue. The TARDIS is gone and he’s standing on the greenest lawn he’s ever seen, birdsong in the distance like some perfect, fictional paradise that not even the best pleasure planet could hope to replicate.

The Doctor smiles, wide and relieved. It had  _worked_.

He turns in a circle, arms stretched out at his sides as he breathes in deeply. There may not be a real heaven but he’d read somewhere that heaven must be a library and he’s rather inclined to agree with them. He much prefers this place to any Biblical version anyway. That heaven could never contain River Song. She’d be far too bored.

“Sweetie, you’re sitting on the Jammie Dodgers.”

The Doctor whirls, looking around wildly for the source of that wonderfully familiar voice. He spots her hair first, of course, and then the rest of her – sitting on a picnic blanket beneath a towering shade tree. The involuntary grin drops from his face the moment he sees who she’s sitting with.

“River Song more worried about biscuits than getting my kit off?” The baby-faced old man in tweed and a bowtie presses a hand to her forehead, frowning. “Are you sure you’re real and not a flesh duplicate? Again?”

She swats at him with a laugh, catching him by the bowtie and tugging him closer. Their noses brush and the younger Doctor nearly goes cross-eyed trying to look at her, a goofy grin lighting up his face. “I just don’t want to hear you complaining, honey. I know how serious you are about Jammie Dodgers and your whinging about crushing them is not the sort of pillow talk I’m hoping for.”

“You hate pillow talk,” he grumbles, shifting away from her only long enough to fish for the offending biscuits and toss them out of the way. “In fact, you always say if I’m going to use my mouth, I might as well-”

“ _You_!”

They both turn to stare at him and the Doctor realizes he’d actually shouted out loud instead of screaming it in the privacy of his own head. His younger self gapes at him in bewilderment but nothing matters to him aside from the way River absolutely lights up like a sun the moment she spots him. His ever poised and graceful wife nearly trips over her dress in her eagerness to get to her feet and the Doctor feels his smile return in full force.

He staggers as she throws herself into his arms, holding tight to her and burying his face in her curls. His other self entirely forgotten for the moment, he breathes in her familiar scent and relishes the warm, perfect weight of her in his arms again. “River,” he chokes out, and knows his grip is tight enough to bruise.

She doesn’t appear to mind, pulling back to take his face in her small hands. Her eyes shine and she blinks back tears, her smile trembling at the corners. “It’s you.”

“Of course it’s me.” He presses his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes. Drinking in the exquisite relief of seeing and speaking to his wife again. “If you think twenty-four years was long enough -”

River laughs softly, a choked sound that squeezes his hearts. “And what would be long enough for you, my love?”

“This,” he promises, opening his eyes to gaze into hers. “Forever.”

“Erm.” Behind them, his younger self clears his throat irritably. “River, dear, who’s your… _friend_?”

The Doctor hides a snort of laughter at the clear note of derision in his younger self’s voice, releasing River only long enough to let her turn and face Bowtie. He grabs her hand, clinging tight to her fingers like she’ll slip through them if he doesn’t.

She laughs, reaching out her free hand to cup Bowtie’s smooth, angular cheek. “Not that I don’t find your pouting adorable, my love, but there’s no need to be jealous of yourself. Bless.”

Bowtie blinks, his bemused gaze darting from River to the old man glaring at him and gripping her possessively. “Really?” He rubs his chin, frowning. “I thought I’d keep getting younger.”

The Doctor scoffs. “Any younger and you’d be an infant.”

Bowtie squeaks at him. “Oi! Rude.” He sniffs, tugging at his coat. “What are you even doing here?”

“What am  _I_  doing here?” The Doctor scowls. “I’ve come home to my wife. What are  _you_  doing here?”

Between them, River glances back and forth with a delighted grin on her face, as though she’s watching a really sexy tennis match.

Bowtie stutters. “I - you - we uploaded ourself before we regenerated!”

“What? No we didn’t, you ninny!”

“Yes, we did!” Bowtie nearly stomps his foot, tugging a hand through his floppy hair. “Don’t you remember?”

The Doctor pauses mid-protest, frowning in thought. As much as he hates to admit it, it’s entirely possible that he did indeed forget that he’d already uploaded himself. He’d forgotten quite a lot of things during his last regeneration. He stares at his younger self, mouth agape as he realizes he’d already downloaded his consciousness to the Library data core a thousand bloody years ago.

Still holding both of them by the hand, River regards them with a small, secret smile. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink and there’s uncharacteristic, heartbreaking awe in her voice as she says, “You came back. Twice.”

“ _Always_.”

The Doctor glares at Bowtie as the same word falls from his mouth at the same time, wondering how the hell he’s going to spend eternity with  _himself_. River laughs softly and chides, “Now boys, play nice.” She glances between them, that uncertainty gone and in its place an unholy, mischievous light in her eyes. “Two of you.” She licks her lips. “The mind races.”

Bowtie blushes up to his ears, muttering a scolding  _Rivah_  under his breath. The Doctor only smirks, far more accustomed to her particular brand of coping after their linear life together. He can’t help noticing, however, that his younger self looks at her with the very same fierce adoration – the will to do anything if it means seeing her smile. That, at least, never changes from one regeneration to the next. She has all twelve – maybe even thirteen, he suspects – versions of him wrapped around her little finger.

His younger self catches his eye, something soft and understanding in his gaze as he nods once. The Doctor nods back, relief loosening the knot in his chest. With the same goal of making River blissfully happy, perhaps it won’t be too difficult to get along after all.

Still flushed with possibilities, River tugs them both by the hand toward the picnic blanket under the shade tree. “Well, I suppose we should get reacquainted before another you forgets and shows up too.” Her voice turns sly. “Though I do hope I get a bit of time with my boys before she gets here.”

The Doctor and his younger self turn to stare at her, their eyes wide. “ _She_?”

River grins, winking at them. “Spoilers.”


	80. "i  thought you didn't want me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/12 - "I thought you didn't want me."

It’s only after dinner and what River teasingly calls _dessert_ just to watch the Doctor’s new face turn pink, that she finally stops to wonder what had taken him so long. Obviously she hadn’t been expecting to see a new version of her husband when she thought he was out of regenerations so his subtle little comments about being a doctor hadn’t exactly hit their mark. Why hadn’t he just come out and said it? Surely he’d known that if he’d just whispered his name into her ear she’d have snogged him on sight. She might have wondered if maybe he didn’t _want_ to be snogged but well, she has teeth marks on her inner thigh to disapprove that particular theory….

Beside her, the Doctor tightens his arm around her waist and kisses her bare shoulder. “You’re thinking very loudly.”

She smiles, tingling all over at just the brush of his lips against her skin. “I was wondering,” she begins, lightly scratching the tip of her nail down his chest. The Doctor shudders, capturing her hand and kissing it. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“About what?” He asks, moving his mouth from her palm to kiss along her forearm.

“Who you were.” She licks her lips, watching his tongue snake out to taste the sweat on her skin. He reaches the crease of her elbow and starts nipping with his teeth. Her breath hitches.

“I tried,” he says, clearly preoccupied. “But you were rather busy and then-”

River frowns when he stops, trailing off mid sentence like he’d been about to reveal more than he’d intended. “What?”

“Nothing.” He sinks his teeth into her shoulder in a clear effort to distract her. “It’s not important.”

“Doctor,” she says, a warning in her voice. “Don’t you dare start off our twenty-four years by hiding something from me.”

He stills for a moment, then goes back to nibbling that spot just at the curve of her neck that he knows drives her absolutely mad. “I’m not hiding anything.”

She squirms away from him reluctantly, ignoring the building heat between her legs that he’s always so very good at igniting. Sitting up, she wraps a rumpled bedsheet around her shoulders and glares down at him. “Then why won’t you tell me what you were going to say?”

The Doctor studies her for a moment, as thought trying to determine how much effort it would take to distract her from her current line of questioning. Apparently deciding it will take more than he’s capable of, he sighs and mumbles in defeat, “I thought you didn’t want me, all right?”

River stares at him. Somewhere in the last few hours, they’ve managed to entirely switch insecurities but she can’t begin to understand how it had happened. Lying beside her on their bed, the Doctor frowns at a feather poking out of one of the pillows and avoids her startled gaze. “You what?”

“Not someone important,” he mutters, and her hearts ache because it seems he’s managed to memorize one particular speech of hers while forgetting the other entirely. “But terribly useful now and then.”

She draws in a breath, remembering how he’d flinched when she’d said that and how bemused she’d been by it at the time. Knowing now that it had been her husband sitting across from her sheds a whole new light on his brooding silence at the table.

“Sweetie,” she begins, biting her lip. “You know I didn’t mean that. I thought you were a stranger. I couldn’t let anyone know what you meant to me; for the same reason you never liked to mention I was your wife. It would put you in danger-”

“I know that now. I do.” He smiles, blue eyes darting up to glance at her quickly. “And do you-”

“I know too,” she whispers, reaching out to press a hand to his cheek.

The Doctor turns his face into her palm, eyeing her through a mop of gray curls. “Well don’t go forgetting,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling. “Promise me.”

“You first.”

He huffs a soft laugh, his warm breath skittering across the skin of her wrist. “I promise,” he whispers, eyes bright. “I won’t forget.”

River leans in, dropping the sheet from her chest to clamber over him and press her mouth firmly to his. “Me too, darling.”


	81. "because i love you"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/12 - "Because I love you!"

River escapes him the moment the TARDIS lands back on Darillium, refusing to turn around even when he shouts after her. As she flees back into the house with a first aid kit under her arm, the Doctor swears under his breath and stalks to the doors.

Even if he hadn’t seen where she’d gone, it would be easy to track her by following the trail of blood she’d left in her wake. The sight of it smeared across the doorknob of the house sets his teeth on edge and he slams the door behind him. “Absolutely the last time we take a trip to Sontar,” he mutters.

Hearing a clatter from the kitchen, he sets off after his stubborn wife. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, trying to thread a needle with one good arm. Looking up when he enters the room, she glares. “Are you going to help or keep being an idiot?”

“Idiot,” he answers, scowling. “Always. Now put that shite away and let me heal you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is not life threatening, Doctor,” she snaps, exasperated. She drops the needle and stitching thread onto the table, all the while dripping blood onto the floor. “It will heal on its own. What if somewhere in your future you need to heal yourself and you can’t because you gave it to me? I will not rob you of _one second_ of your life-”

The Doctor snarls, waving her away. “What, like I haven’t lived bloody long enough?”

“No.” River sets her jaw, eyes burning. “Never long enough.”

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “River, I have plenty to spare now. Would you just let me-”

“Don’t.” She holds out her uninjured arm, stopping him mid-step with a mere glance. “Don’t you dare take one more step toward me, Doctor, unless you’re planning to help me stitch this wound.”

He sways in place, one part of his brain firmly rooted in having a row with his wife while the other calculates how much blood she’s already lost and how long she has before she goes into shock. Fingers twitching at his sides, excess regeneration energy just under the surface of his skin, he growls out, “Why? Why can’t I do this for you?”

River wraps her hand around the wound on her arm and when blood seeps between her fingers, the Doctor sets his jaw. “You’ve never used your regeneration energy on anyone else, have you?”

He blinks. “Well, no but-”

“Then why me?” She shakes her head, grimacing when she pulls back her bloodied hand and looks at her arm. “I won’t let you waste it on me because you have a guilt complex over me giving you mine.”

“It’s not a fucking-” He stops when she tenses, swallowing tightly, and forces his voice into less of a furious snarl. “That’s not why.”

River clucks her tongue, fishing through the first aid kit like she’s rummaging through a box of shiny trinkets and not bleeding all over the damned kitchen. “Then what other reason is there?”

“Because,” he grinds out, teeth clenched and temper flaring. “ _I love you_!”

She drops the bandage currently clutched in her fist and turns slowly, staring at him with wide eyes. The Doctor stares back at her, hands still balled into fists and nostrils flaring. He’s too angry and worried to even care that he just blurted out the one thing he’s never been able to tell her despite how very much he has always felt it.

Eyes suspiciously bright, River asks in a strangled voice, “What did you just say?”

Instead of repeating it, he staggers forward a step. River doesn’t move, frozen in place as she watches him kneel in front of her at the table. Carefully, he lifts her bleeding arm and cradles it to him, his hand glowing golden. River says nothing, though her breath catches. He looks up as he wraps his fingers around her wound, watching the way the light plays across her face.

It’s only as the glare of regeneration energy fades and he’s staring up into River’s watering eyes that he finally repeats himself. Pressing a kiss where the scar would have been on her arm, he whispers into her skin, “I love you.”

Still in his grip, River trembles. “Doctor-”

“And you’re more important than adding a few measly hours to my endless life.” He peeks up at her through his lashes, watching with an ache in his chest as she dashes a shaking hand beneath her eyes. “Understood?”

She shakes her head and says very carefully, “In a few minutes, we’re going to have a massive row about you ignoring my wishes just now.”

The Doctor feels his mouth curl. “And until then?”

“Come here, you idiot.” She surges forward, curling her hand around the back of his neck, and kisses him soundly. He threads his hands through her hair and tugs her from her chair. They’re sitting on a blood-spattered kitchen floor and the air still smells faintly of antiseptic but River is warm and unharmed, wriggling deliciously on his lap. There will be plenty of time for cleaning up - and apparently another row - later.

Much, much later. 


	82. "i missed you so much"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/13 - "I missed you so much."

It’s a Sunday and the markets on Hyspero are overflowing with merchants eager to sell their wares to the bustling crowds. River doesn’t usually like traveling to Sunday afternoons - an unfortunate habit of spending too much time with him indoors - but the merchant she’s looking for is only available on weekends.

If she doesn’t find this part to repair her - _unashamedly stolen_ \- squareness gun then she won’t be able to take it on her upcoming expedition. And she has a strange feeling she’s going to need every advantage she can get. A whole planet abandoned and closed off for hundreds of years? There’s bound to be the best kind of trouble.

As she browses through the outdoor stalls, she keeps an eye out for the Doctor, knowing he occasionally pops by this particular market to hunt for spare parts for the TARDIS. Even as she goes about her business finding what she needs - occasionally pocketing things without paying just to see if she can get away with it - she listens always for the sound of him practicing his terrible haggling skills. The dear man always ends up paying far more than he or even the merchant intends.

Hyspero seems to be absent of any stupidly dressed Time Lords today and River is just about to give up pretending she isn’t lingering in hopes of catching a glimpse of him - any him - and scarper with her supplies. She lifts the wrist holding her manipulator but before she can press the button to take her into the vortex, a gangly young woman barrels right into her with a squeak.

She stumbles, staring in bewilderment over the woman’s shoulder as she throws her arms around River’s neck and squeezes. “River,” she breathes, and even caught off guard and contemplating reaching for her gun, River has to admit the northern accent is positively precious. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Momentarily softening, she stares down at the gleaming blonde hair of the woman currently wrapped around her like an octopus. Her face is buried in River’s neck and one of her slender hands pets a bit frantically at her hair, like she’s trying to tame it.

“Well, I’ve missed you too darling.” River frowns, carefully trying to extricate herself from the woman’s enthusiastic grip. “Or I will do. Probably.”

Reluctantly releasing her, the young woman lifts her head and the moment River sees the wide, goofy smile splitting her youthful face it hits her with a jolt. Her breath catches and she stares into the woman’s eyes, her hearts thrilling when she sees what she always sees when she looks at the Time Lord she married. Hope. Wonder. Adoration. So much kindness.

“Why, Doctor,” she purrs, laughing softly when her wife beams in reply. “You’ve redecorated.” She lifts a hand, stroking a lock of silky hair while the Doctor leans into the touch with an adorably content hum. River licks her lips, eyes roaming hungrily over wide, happy eyes and sweetly flushed cheeks. “I like it.”


	83. "why haven't you kissed me yet?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/12 - "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"
> 
> Takes place during the Christmas Special, Twice Upon A Time.

“We offer you a gift. Return to us the human in your TARDIS and in exchange, you may speak with her again.”

Watching the scene from a monitor inside the TARDIS, the Doctor freezes. He stares unblinking at the screen, not daring to hope…

His first regeneration frowns. “Speak with whom?”

A burst of light at the top of the stairs is his answer and inside the TARDIS, the Doctor watches as a silhouette appears. His breath catches painfully. Even in shadow, he’d recognize that hair anywhere. He doesn’t move, fingers curled tight around the console as he stares, hearts lodged in his throat.

His younger self takes a tentative step forward, peering at her suspiciously. “Young lady, who are you?”

“Spoilers, I’m afraid.” She smiles fondly, eyes sad. “You’re certainly not the version I was expecting.”

The moment he hears her voice, he snaps into action. Darting past the Captain and running full tilt out of the TARDIS, staggering to a halt once he stumbles out the doors. His hearts pound in his ears and his mouth is so dry he can’t even speak but absolutely none of it matters because River is standing right in front of him, beaming like a sun.

“There you are,” she murmurs, and her voice wraps around him like a warm blanket. “My Doctor.”

Slowly, he holds out shaking arms to her and when River falls into them with a happy laugh, he has to bite back a sob. She fits against him as perfectly as ever, folding herself into his arms like he is the home she always returns to. He buries his face in her hair and marvels that someone so much larger than life manages to contain herself so snugly in the circle of his arms.

Cradling her to his chest, he breathes her in. She smells like River - books and dust and violets. She hugs like River. Has the same honeyed voice as his River. But, he realizes with a jolt, she can’t be River. Because River is dead.

He stiffens in her grasp, eyes stinging as he slowly pulls away.

“Doctor?” She stares at him as he takes a step back, a hurt frown clouding her lovely face. “What’s wrong?”

He says nothing, still studying her face as he reaches for the sonic screwdriver in his coat pocket. River’s eyes narrow at the sight of it and she bristles, small hands balling into fists.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to point that thing at me unless we’re in bed?”

Behind them, his first regeneration makes a strangled noise of distress.

The Doctor ignores him, hand closed tight around his sonic. “Just keep still,” he says, inching forward. “My wife River Song _died_ saving me and 4022 she didn’t even know. The only thing I have left of her is her mind, trapped inside a library data core.” He swallows roughly, clenching his jaw. “She can’t be here and _no one_ is allowed to use her face. No one _mocks_ River Song or they will answer to me.”

River shudders, eyes gleaming. “I do love it when you go all strict.”

He recoils. “Don’t.”

“Darling,” she says, softening. She reaches for him and he stumbles away from her. “I’m right here. It’s me.”

“No, you’re not,” he snaps. “You’re either a fraud or at most a compilation of my wife’s memories taken from books and history.”

River sighs, eyeing him fondly. “And what is a data ghost but a collection of memories? I certainly don’t have a body any longer. Burned it up saving your pretty backside.” She crinkles her nose and the familiar, adorable sight makes him flinch, hearts pinching together. River watches him with pity, biting her lip. “If you don’t think memories count then why on earth did you bother preserving mine?”

“Because,” he rasps, eyes burning. “I couldn’t bear to lose one more piece of you.”

She steps forward once more and this time the Doctor doesn’t back away. He stands frozen in place as she lifts a hand to his face and strokes his cheek, whispering, “My sentimental idiot.”

He shakes his head, steeling himself against the urge to crumble into her arms. “It’s not possible.”

River sighs again, full of exasperation. “What’s not possible about a futuristic extraction agency contacting the largest data base in the universe to project me right in front of you?”

The Doctor stares at her, hope welling in his chest despite his best attempts to stifle it. He swallows hard, licking his lips. “If you’re River Song then why haven’t you kissed me yet? She never misses an opportunity to-”

She stops him with her mouth, her kiss warm and frustrated and wonderfully familiar. Her nose bumps his and she bites his lip on accident and the raw desperation in her kiss scatters the last of his doubts to the wind. The Doctor wraps the ghost of his wife up in his arms and shuts his stinging eyes, promising himself that this time he won’t let go.


	84. "please don't leave me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/11 - "Please don't leave me."

It isn’t his fault - not really. Hardly anything is ever his fault when his wife is this young. He’d dropped in to pick up his Ponds for a quick trip and had instead found River, still in University and apparently staying with her parents for the summer hols. He’s been doing his best to give her space when she’s this young, not only for the sake of timelines but because her very Roman father had demanded it of him.

 _She needs to make her own choices_ , Rory had said, stern and parental in a way that made the Doctor want to grin at him. _Don’t go making them for her just because from your perspective she already has_.

He’d saluted and agreed, blushing all the while.

And so far he’s done a good job of adhering to Rory’s wishes. Except today. Today, River had greeted him with a wink and a _hello sweetie_ and he could do nothing but stutter; staring at her in those cutoff shorts and her bare feet, the thin straps of her tank top slipping down her tanned shoulders to reveal those sweet little freckles he so loves to trace with his tongue when she’s older.

What else could he do but kiss her?

He’d meant for it to be a quick peck, really. All right, maybe a few quick pecks. And not quick so much as enthusiastic. The point _is_ he certainly hadn’t meant for things to escalate to the point of having his very young wife straddling him on the sofa in the Pond’s living room. And he _certainly_ hadn’t meant to slide her top over her head like that but before he can panic too much about it River is wriggling on his lap and guiding his hands to her warm, bare flesh.

If his lives depended on it he couldn’t begin to say why he shouldn’t melt into her when she does that thing with her tongue and moans so enticingly in his ear. He slides his hands down her bare back and grips her bottom, tugging her closer. River sighs, her breath hot against his cheek as she grinds against him in just the right way to make his brain fizzle out his ears. He whimpers, fingers digging into the denim of her frayed cutoffs.

“Doctor,” she breathes, small hands fumbling between them for the buttons on his trousers. He ducks his head, nipping at her throat, and she tips her head back with a gasp. “Oh honey, _please_. I want you.”

“I bet you do,” he rumbles, sinking his teeth into her collarbone. “You bad, bad girl.”

She bites back a moan, breathing heavily as she wriggles her hand into his trousers. The Doctor lifts his hips in an effort to help her, panting into her hair and needing her to touch him so badly nothing else in the universe matters. Except the sound of the front door opening.

“ _Melody_!”

They both freeze, staring at each other in horror at the sound of Rory William’s angry voice. River recovers first - alarmingly quickly, come to think of it. She reaches for her discarded shirt and slips it back over her head before she turns to face her parents with an innocent smile. Rory and Amy stand in the doorway, holding takeout containers and gaping at them.

“Mum. Dad.” River greets brightly, waggling her fingers at them as though she hadn’t just had that particular hand down the Doctor’s pants. “Look who popped by for a visit.”

The Doctor shifts awkwardly, struggling to discreetly do up his trousers with River still perched on his lap. “Erm, Ponds! Hello Ponds.” He wonders briefly if his face will remain this shade of red for the remainder of this regeneration. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Here? At our house? Where we live?” Amy arches an eyebrow, clearly trying to stifle a smirk. “Yeah, small world.”

Gaze still locked on the Doctor, Rory orders quietly, “Melody, go help your mum set the table. I need a moment with the Doctor.”

As River moves to shift off his lap, the Doctor grabs her hand and grips it tight. Eyes wide, he meets her amused stare and whispers frantically, “Please don’t leave me.”

She smirks, leaning in to press a lipstick kiss to the tip of his nose. “Sorry, sweetie.”

With a wink, she slinks off his lap and out of the room with Amy, leaving the Doctor alone with a very angry Centurion. When both women are gone, he grabs a pillow from the sofa and places it on his lap, beaming at Rory. “So,” he says, fidgeting. “Rory the Roman. How are… things?”

Rory glares.


	85. "you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/13 - "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Whenever she encounters a Doctor she hasn’t seen before, her favorite part is always the quiet moments after whatever adventure they find themselves in. When she can pin him to the nearest flat surface and get acquainted with his body all over again. But now, with a whole new feminine form to explore and memorize and brand as her own? She’s never looked forward to it more.

Hovering over the newest version of her Doctor, River shifts onto her knees and smiles. Naked and splayed out on their bed, anxious but willing to endure this examination, the Doctor avoids her gaze. She fidgets quite a bit in this body and it reminds River of Bowtie so much that her chest aches.

She dips her head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just over the Doctor’s hearts. Her hands slide teasingly over the soft swell of her hips and the indent of her waist, cupping breasts that fit just perfectly in the palms of her hands. Beneath her, the Doctor draws in a breath and shudders.

River doesn’t linger long, pressing her mouth first to one rosebud nipple and then the other. The Doctor grasps ineffectually at her curls, squirming. Her long, lanky legs part and River tuts a playful, “Thirty seconds and you’re already spreading your legs for me? Always such a tart, Doctor.”

The Doctor huffs a tendril of blonde hair from her face and mutters, “Pot, kettle.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” River ducks her head and bites the Doctor’s bony hip. She jerks, gasping quietly. “Now sit still and behave like a good girl.”

Pouting, the Doctor sinks back into the sheets. “Will you at least tell me what you think?”

River traces a fingertip down her pale stomach, swirling around the Doctor’s belly button. “Of what?”

The Doctor bites her lip, watching River comb teasing fingertips through the wiry curls at the apex of her slender, pale thighs. “Of me.”

With great effort, River glances up from her task. Seeing her ever insecure spouse watching her with wide, hungry eyes, she smiles and climbs back up the bed. Bending her head, she presses her lips to the Doctor’s pink cheek and whispers, “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”


	86. "stay with me forever"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/11 - "Stay with me forever."

Morning lie-ins with the Doctor are rare. He hardly ever sleeps for one thing and when he does, it’s never for long. And it’s even rarer that he stays in bed and waits for River to wake up. Either he attempts poking her awake and fleeing when she growls at him or he slips out of bed and occupies himself elsewhere until she stumbles out of their room with bedhead in search of tea.

This morning, however, is different. River wakes slowly, gradually becoming aware of her surroundings without opening her eyes. The bed is warm - far too warm to mean she’s alone in it. And if that weren’t enough of a clue, the lanky body glued to her side would have been enough to tip her off. He’d stayed.

She feels a smile curl her mouth and stretches, turning to burrow into the Doctor’s warmth. He snuffles in his sleep, his head finding the crook of her shoulder and his fingers curling snugly around her hip. “River,” he mutters, and she bites her lip at the sleepy rasp of his voice. “S’morning?”

“We’re in a time machine, my love,” she whispers, stroking her fingers through his rumpled hair. “It’s whatever time you like.”

The Doctor sighs, apparently content with such an answer, and presses a lazy kiss to the side of her neck. “Staying?”

She nods, translating his half-asleep mumble into a proper question. “For a while.”

His grip around her tightens and she smiles, letting him drag her close enough to haul against his chest. Nose mashed against her cheek now and fingertips digging into her back, he protests in a tired slur, “Not long enough.”

“It never is.” She drops a kiss to his chest, shivering when his fingers begin to stroke up and down her spine in a lazy caress. “Greedy old man.”

He hums, half protest and half agreement. “Stay with me.”

River indulges him for the moment, pressing a series of kisses just over his hearts. “How long this time, my love?”

The Doctor, nearly asleep again and still managing to cling to her anyway, mumbles an obstinate, “Forever.”

Deciding it would be useless to argue with a sleepy, stubborn Time Lord, she tucks her head just under his chin and shuts her eyes. Their bed is warm, the Doctor is adorably needy this morning, and for the moment there is nowhere else she needs to be. “Forever,” she agrees with a yawn, and slips back into dreams.


	87. "i'm better when i'm with you"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: River/12 - "I'm better when I'm with you."

Once she knows who he is, he can’t seem to stop touching her. He guides her to the balcony overlooking the Towers with a hand at the small of her back. He ushers her to their table with his calloused fingers wrapped tenderly around the back of her neck. He brushes her hand every time he refills her glass of wine. Beneath the table, his booted foot brushes her ankle far too frequently to be mistaken for an accident.

And it isn’t only his hands he has trouble keeping to himself. River sits through a four course meal with his intent blue eyes constantly on her, lingering on her face and hands and mouth until she could blush from the attention. He watches her like she’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. Like a whole universe of wonders can’t compare to the way she sips her wine or bites into her pasta.

She feels like an inexperienced girl with him, pushing her food around her plate and casting him shy glances over the lit candles between them. The Doctor smiles every time he catches her looking back, a warm, gentle grin that softens his sharp features into hearts-clenching tenderness.

River sets aside her wine, hand shaking with the sort of trembling desire she hasn’t felt in ages. Since before Manhattan. She curls her hand into a fist and hides it on her lap, clearing her throat under the Doctor’s attentive gaze. “You’re staring, darling.”

“What else should one do with sunset?” He asks softly, arching one of those heavy brows at her. “Except admire it.”

“Stop it,” she murmurs, mortified to feel her cheeks heat. “Incorrigible old man.”

He grins, the wide and uninhibited smile that she’s already come to love on his new face. “You like me this way.”

River shakes her head, darting a glance at him. “I’m sorry to disappoint, darling but you never paid so much attention to me before.”

“Untrue.” He frowns, leaning forward. “I distinctly remember almost starting another war on Ockora because I was too busy watching the way the sunlight glinted off your hair to bother properly translating the peace declaration.”

She bites back a laugh, remembering the horror on his younger face when he realized he’d almost plunged the Selachians back into another season of war just because he couldn’t stop gawking at his wife. “All right,” she admits. “Perhaps you have.”

The Doctor extends a hand across the table and takes hers. “Then why the surprise?”

She shrugs, watching him stroke his thumb over the backs of her fingers. “I suppose I just didn’t expect it from this body. I would never have guessed this face of yours would be so…tactile.”

“It isn’t. Or at least, it wasn’t.” He smiles at her, eyes shining in the candlelight. “It’s different with you.” He shakes his head and corrects firmly, “ _I’m_ different with you.” He swallows, meeting her gaze bravely. “Better.”

River laces their fingers together, her throat suddenly tight. “Me too, darling.”


End file.
